Friends: Friends And Enemies
by karina001
Summary: Coming safely down from the mountain is only the beginning of the trials to be faced by Zechs and Duo. Who ordered the assassination and will they try again?
1. Chapter 1

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Shadows, Organisation, Trust

Minor challenge response: Codes

Word count: 2,166

Series: Friends : Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: 6+2, 3x4, 1+R

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for betaing this fic.

Character Challenge:

Friends and Enemies

Chapter 1

Une was present, silent and watchful. He did not need to see her to know; he could feel her and the intensity of her glare. She would not thank him for Preventers becoming involved in his mess. She would be that darker patch of shadow within the shadow cast by the hanger.

She would be present to ensure her Preventers were safe.

He could only hope her influence was enough for her people to be spared repercussions in the aftermath.

There were at least six, five waiting and one, at minimum, remaining in the operations van parked to one side. A plain, nondescript white van just like thousands of other white vans to be found all over Europe. It was what lay within the shell that distinguished the organizations vehicles.

"I do not like this."

Barton breathed the words, watching as the van was directed by one of the five to reverse to the open hatch of the helicopter. Chang stood in the cockpit doorway, silent, watchful. Cold as the oriental alabaster figurine Treize had admired, a remnant of his ancestors exploits in ancient China. Were it not for the cold weather gear Chang would look very much like that calcite figurine, all perfect lines and cold perfection.

Yuy was silent, a shadow in the cabin, watching, blue eyes intense.

He had to give the three of them credit. The moment the doors opened he could feel them tightening up, poised for action, reacting to the tension. Recognising the close proximity to impending violence.

They did not know Une was watching, not as yet, but even her presence was no guarantee they would escape. They were witnesses and he was an embarrassment to… someone. An embarrassment and a threat to their ambitions.

If she managed to get them away from the airport the best thing she could do would be to assign the three well away from Earth on a mission involving deep undercover work. Out of sight, hard to find… they might be deemed insignificant; not worth the effort of locating.

If They kept their eyes on him and expected him to react quickly and efficiently then They, who ever They might be revealed to be, might be too busy to notice the activities of those who had assisted in rescuing him.

The Preventers had played only a minor part in the overall game.

He would be acting soon enough, though hopefully his reaction to the actions taken against him might not be what others expected.

"Have you a gun?"

Yuy had moved closer, eyes on the five watching them, his voice low.

"Not necessary."

He could feel the disbelief from Yuy and even Chang reacted, snorting and shifting slightly. Barton grunted, tilting his head a little as he scanned the tarmac.

"Sure about that are you?"

Oh yes, Mr. Chang Wu Fei, he was sure. He had learned a long time ago that if you had a weapon at hand you relied on it too heavily to the exclusion of all sense. Besides, his weapon of choice was not something you brought to hand and aimed manually. His preferred weapons were far more subtle than a bullet between the eyes.

"Quite sure."

Hopefully Maxwell had made himself scarce and was already digging himself into a nice deep hole. Yuy had informed him Duo had split off from their flight path and that pleased him. He need not concern himself with Duo's immediate survival, merely his own, unless Une proved to be incapable of watching out for her own people.

"Zechs…" Yuy, sotto voiced, was clearly not impressed with the situation.

"I expected this."

What he did not know would dictate his course of action in the next few minutes.

Who was it who had ordered the make up of his reception committee?

He needed to answer that question quickly. He needed to know how quickly he needed to react when they were out of sight of the Preventers. It was possible those five would kill them all here and now, but he doubted it. More likely the Preventers would be spared, at least for now, and in the privacy of the van he would need to watch for the assassin's blade.

They could slip a knife between his ribs as he was settled in the van and, if any of the three Preventers managed to get a look into the van, they could claim he had passed out. When the attempt came it would be quick and quiet and eminently efficient. It would only take one of these six agents to be working for the parties he now classed as the enemy.

Five out of the van, one driver and potentially one, maybe two in the back of the van. Who commanded the extraction team? Was it an agent he had trusted or a stranger? Or one of the few he had no time for? Who had been converted? Who had remained true to the ideal of the group? Who had soured and worked now to a bloodier way of influencing world events?

Such a fine line of distinction could be drawn between Friends and Enemies. Sometimes the two were practically indistinguishable.

Lonely as it was, he had learned to trust no one.

A brief vision of blue eyes tinted violet with emotion, a hard glint of determination and cold clear intelligence… and an undertone of tragedy.

No one?

Did he dare to trust there?

Life had proven that someone always wanted something from him. Treize had wanted his loyalty, his unquestioning trust. Noin had wanted a dream, a fantasy of setting up house, a wedding band and babies. Nice fantasy, but fantasy undoubtedly. Une had wanted him out of the way, jealous of the attention Treize had paid him. She was here only to protect her own. Relena…

Well, what could he say about her? His sister had not known he existed and when she did know of him she had wanted her imagined ideal of a big brother. A brother who would indulge her and who would do everything she wanted.

Harsh...and as much a lie as it was the truth.

Relena wanted from him what he could not give. He did not know her any more than she knew him, but he understood her as she could not understand him. He gave her what he could, giving of himself to seeing her ideal of peace survived long enough for people to decide it needed modification to have a hope in hell of surviving beyond a single generation maturing.

Now he had to discredit an organization that was being taken down into darkness and that would, if its descent continued, be the ruin of the woman's ideals for a peaceful world.

A pity, because they had worked well for managing the peace quietly and unobtrusively.

"We will take it from here."

Not a known face. Mark that one for a possible assassin. Cold brown eyes, unruly black hair, hand never straying far from a concealed weapon. That one knew who they were, by the glint in his eye, and he would have liked to test how good the one time Gundam pilots were.

Don't ask them anything. Remain silent.

Don't even move to scratch your arse.

That was all they had to do, just stay still and silent and let it happen. Then they would go and his fate need no longer concern them and he would get on with the serious business of finding out who had tried to kill him.

Yuy was watching him, blue eyes agate hard but there was something moving in those cold depths that made him tense. He willed the man to stay out of it, to let it go and get on with the serious business of deciding if he dared to court a Princess who was a member of a government hell bent on giving everybody what they wanted.

Thought they wanted.

You could not please everybody and trying to would only bring the whole cobbled together design of this peace crashing down around their ears. When Yuy decided to get serious, whichever way he jumped about the relationship issue, he would keep her safe. That much he could trust the man to do.

The rear doors of the van were opening and he saw Barton tense, felt Yuy inch closer. Chang stirred, a subtle shift that had the stranger tensing up, but his hand remained that carefully prescribed distance from his weapons.

"Debriefing will prove interesting."

Marcus.

A quick shimmer of light over the lens of glasses and the lithe red head was grinning with his customary brilliance. Dressed in the charcoal black of an operations uniform he nodded in a familiar fashion to the watching Gundam pilots and hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the other agent.

"Get the team moving. I'll take care of this."

The chill grew and the red head ignored the glares, hoisting himself up to balance in the doorway and, continuing to ignore the three younger men and the dour agent at his back, he leaned toward Zechs with a wicked grin.

"How bad is the damage?"

Yuy tensed and Zechs dared to flick a finger in a hold signal, watching both men, willing them to act naturally. Marcus, with his body shielding his action, slipped a com device under the Preventer issue blanket, shadowing a wink and reached for the cleats securing the stretcher to the deck. Yuy bent to those securing the head of the stretcher and glared, silent, but Zechs read the question and answered it with the faintest flicker of an eyelash.

Marcus was known to him and the fact he had been slipped the com suggested he would not be without a neutral ear, if they could get the time and opportunity to speak. Glancing at the other operative Zechs doubted that would happen. He slipped a hand under the blanket and slid the com protectively under his thigh; uncomfortable but it would not drop out during the transfer.

"Annoying."

Meaning if he had to act he would and was capable, he only hoped the bastard eyeing him off like he wanted to test that would not tempt fate.

"Time's wasting, Bradford. Get your men moving."

The stretcher was swung around to face the van feet first, putting Zechs into a position where he could look into the back of the vehicle. He could see one other man, a shadowed figure hunched over an array of high tech panels. So they would not be alone in the rear of the van, enough warning to watch what was said, not that he would have been talkative.

Eight of them, and only one possibly friendly to him. Possibly. He had worked with Marcus on a number of occasions and liked the man well enough to account him as hovering somewhere between acquaintance and friend. It was possible though that Marcus was no friend, merely there to deceive… or he too could be marked for elimination and this was considered a convenient time to snare two agents who could ask uncomfortable questions.

"You have what you came for, Commander. I suggest you move your tardy butts."

Une, and she sounded cold as ice. Zechs saw Barton stiffen and heard Chang shift, moving closer to the open door. Yuy remained silent and Zechs could feel the tension flare in him. It appeared none of the three were pleased to see the Ice Lady.

The stretcher slid smoothly into the van, pressed tight to the wall to make room for the other men. Marcus inclined his head briefly to Yuy, ignored Une and jumped up into the van, reaching to close the doors as he did so.

Zechs spared one glance over his shoulder. Chang stood in the open hatch, Barton beside him. Yuy stood on the tarmac, Une moving to flank him, and the agent identified as Bradford was glaring so intensely he expected Yuy to spontaneously combust.

The doors slammed shut and the interior of the van was instantly swathed in heavy shadow. More than the one vehicle then. He was not sure he liked that.

"Ready to go." Marcus glanced at the com agent.

"Recovery One enroute to extraction point…. Acknowledged Command."

The agent at the monitors had one hand pressed to an earphone and the other on a control, changing radio frequencies Zechs knew.

"Commander, we are instructed to proceed to the extraction point. Extraction is Green."

Marcus settled on the floor of the van beside him, back pressed to the doors, tense, watching the com man as intently as Zechs. Nor did he relax when the man slapped the driver's shoulder through the small hatch in a signal to move out. Zechs strained to hear anything from outside; afraid he might hear the beginnings of a fire fight, but all remained still as the van pulled smoothly away from the helicopter.

He could only hope the tarmac would not run red.

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	2. Chapter 2

Bishi Pile Challenge

Major challenge response: Trust, Memories, Expectations

Minor challenge response: Shadows, Organization, Veteran

Word count: 3,376

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies 2/??

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings:

Many thanks to Katie and ShenLong Deb for running their wonderful eyes over this and cleaning up my act.

Character Challenge: Duo, Zechs and Quatre

Chapter 2

He was tempted to turn the helo around and fly back to the air terminal as quickly as the rotors could turn. Quatre had given him 15 minutes to get to the designated location and the tone of his voice had been deadly serious. This was not a game; that was what the underlying message had said. Quatre's voice was reminiscent of occasions during the war when their lives had hung in the balance. Duo's memories of the times when they had made the mistake of ignoring the seemingly innocent blonde led him to be almost afraid.

What lay behind the message?

Did he really want to go there, to the private air port Quatre had designated, and discover what the man had done?

A law unto himself; that was perhaps the best description of Quatre Winner. He had the money and the means to thumb his nose at most people and organisations in the ESUN and he did; regularly. A great many people in positions of power had been burned, to varying degrees of severity, by Quatre and one day Winner would run out of luck.

No one could be invincible, despite the best planning and resources. In every operation there was always an element of luck, rogue and bringing with it the make or break moment. It was inevitable that someone, at some time, would bite back.

Had that now happened? Was Quatre fighting some sort of action to deter people from taking what was his?

"Shit."

He had trouble behind him and now it appeared there was to be trouble ahead as well. He had promised Marquise he would make himself scarce; cruise below the radar of anyone who might wish to silence his voice as a witness. He had intended to largely honour that promise… at least for a time, but now?

What had Quatre been up to while everyone was occupied up on that mountain? Some days he swore his friend needed a nursemaid, a baby sitter; someone to keep him from making rash decisions from his heart and not his head.

Things could go bad quickly when their strategist used his heart to decide his course of action against the rule of common sense. But then Duo knew all about making sudden and seemingly rash decisions. He had made a few himself and he had benefited from more than one Quatre had made in the past.

"Barton is gonna blame me."

Whatever it was behind this clandestine use of a private airfield somehow it would come back to being his fault. Quatre constantly went out on a limb for his friends, or for a good cause that too few people with means were willing to champion. He seemed to give little thought to his own safety… and that, Duo knew, was not really accurate.

It was not fair to the man or to the consummate strategic skill of him; or to his instincts.

Winner was an exemplary strategist.

That had been proven repeatedly during the war and on many occasions since the peace had been won. He was no fool, but sometimes Quatre seemed to take prodigious leaps instead of judicious steps, skipping over procedures, discussions and heading straight into trouble. That he somehow managed to extricate himself from the mire time and again, and always end up smelling of roses and rolling in additional wealth, was just… well… Duo was uncertain exactly what to call it. Luck seemed to be such a poor description given the hard work Quatre put in during those times of trial.

No, Quatre was definitely not a fool. He was anything but that. He was, in fact, as misunderstood in his way as Duo had found himself to be.

//I guess that's why we deal so well with each other.//

He had not had a problem relating to Solo all of those years ago, and until Quatre had come along Duo would have had to say that Solo was the only person he had not had a problem communicating with. They had understood each other on so many levels that few words were ever needed between them. It was almost as though Solo had known what he was thinking and he had understood Solo in turn, without the need for spoken words.

It had been a long time since he had lost Solo to the plague on L2 and those were far from pleasant memories, though largely looked back on fondly for the people who had lived them with him. He had really not known what to think when he had first met Quatre and spent those long days in the desert heat with him. They had so easily seemed to fit together in a way that had nothing to do with physical attraction, but was increasingly intimate the longer they had spent together. Even the presence of Trowa today, Quatre's significant other, did not impinge on their ability to understand and accept each other.

It was not even a problem between them that Quatre was filthy rich and he was a street rat from L2 turned Sweeper, turned… well, hobo? Quatre did not push his wealth on him, understanding he stood on his own two feet and gave in coin other than credits into their relationship.

In his view it was cool for Quatre to be with Trowa; he was happy for his friend… friends. They were good together, fitting well in a way that was as intimate as his bond to Quatre but very different too. Trowa was a good influence in curbing Quatre's more impulsive moments, but Trowa never tried to hold him back, never told him what he could, or could not, do.

//Not like Hilde.//

Ah, no. He had to stop that before he began. That sort of thinking was not fair to her. He was not sure what exactly had gone wrong in their relationship, he had thought things were okay between them, but she seemed to want more from him. It wasn't as though she had said she wanted a wedding, ring and the whole works. No, that was not what had ended things for them, it was something else. Something deep inside himself had not… filled… where it should have.

He was not in love with Quatre but he could not for an instant deny that Quatre warmed him deep inside. He had thought he loved Hilde but that place deep within him, in his psyche he guessed, was empty… or cold maybe?… when Quatre had not been near.

No, the break up between he and Hilde wasn't her fault. The blame for that had to rest squarely on his shoulders. Things had been falling apart in slow but sure stages from the very beginning because he had not realised; it was his fault for so long ignoring what was missing.

He had hurt her and he was sorry, but his leaving as he had was better, kinder to her in the long term. She would go on quite well without him.

And now, when he least expected to find it again, there was someone else who impacted on that deep place he had leaned to acknowledge from associating with Quatre more than the shrinks. It was just about the last person he would ever have expected to incite any reaction from him… except, perhaps, anger over past sins… but he was not without sin himself and therefore he should not cast stones.

Marquise. What was it about the man that made him sit up and take notice, as he did with Quatre? What was it about him that made him… God, no! He had been about to say trust?!

Did he actually trust Marquise?

Only Quatre, and Solo before him, had had that trust naturally, without earning it. One had been an ally during the war and the other… the other had been the enemy. The enemy to him and to the others who fought as he had fought for peace, but then it could be said the opposition had equally considered themselves to be fighting for peace too!

Everyone thought their own cause just and some were far more honest about it than others.

And he trusted Marquise now, for some strange reason, because something inside him gave a nod of approval. What would have happened if they had met through the war? Would that instinctive trust he now found have been there then?

//Shit. I don't understand any of this. I don't get why I'm so concerned about what is happening to him. It's not like he's a Gundam Pilot; he's not one of us five. He's former OZ, an officer, and he did that whole freak out thing with the White Fang and threatened to destroy everything on Earth. Why should I trust him?//

Experience had taught him Marquise was hardly trustworthy material, at least in his books.

But how to equate that past action with the man he had met up on the mountain? It did not seem to fit.

The man he had met, almost dead when he had found him, was quite definitely sane. Dangerous as all hell let loose to be sure, but sane none-the-less. Marquise could probably produce a dozen reports from psychologists attesting to that fact and Duo snorted softly in amusement; he sure as hell could produce them and still they called him a certified nut case.

People!

What was it about Marquise that determined he could trust him, yet at the same time, screamed the need for caution, not because he was not to be trusted but because he was dangerous? The man had not been like that during the war, had he?

How had the men placed under his command dealt with him? Had they respected him? That was the measure of a good officer, Duo knew, the degree of respect held by the men who served under him, and were willing to lay their lives on the line trusting in his abilities to get the best out of them and get them safely home.

How had Khushrenada dealt with him if Marquise had been that… scary?

Maybe he should look into that? Find out more about him. It could give him some insight into why the man affected him as he did.

Duo scrubbed a hand over his face, tired, irritable and confused. Everything was wrong in his world and he felt he was swinging uncontrollably towards an oncoming, unknown disaster.

Flying without a flight plan over a night shrouded city toward a dark airstrip was certainly not helping. The navigation beacons would permit him to find the airstrip but would give him little assistance in landing, not that he was incapable of landing on a dark patch of ground without all of the modern conveniences to assist, and there was sure to be at least a minimum of lighting available to set down without thinking the ground was a little further away from him than it actually was.

A light blinked on, flashing coyly at him from his control panel and he sighed, pushing aside thinking to correct his flight path. The light was a landing beacon, unexpected assistance but he would follow it in to land… and a series of red lights springing up in the night ahead of his flight path further relieved his anxiety.

He was tired, he was anxious about what had transpired at the main terminal. They had to have landed by now and for all he knew his friends and Marquise could be bloody corpses on the tarmac.

//Shit!//

He was a paranoid bastard tonight! So not good.

The private strip was visible now, a heliport landing pad illuminated by carefully placed flares and the beacon light on his control panel was almost a solid red glow as he approached. The flares and the beacon were all the assist he was going to get for this night landing, but it was more than he had had for some missions during the war. One did not look a gift horse in the mouth and refuse the aid when offered.

Coming in to land he had the opportunity to survey the area, eyes piercing the darkness, noting every detail possible in the poor lighting. There were no lights other than the usual security lights left to burn at night. No indication of anyone waiting for him either, the shadows were too dark, and Duo felt his guts crawl with unease.

"Ah, what have you done, Quatre? Why all the cloak and dagger shit?"

There were people down there, at least two he assumed, to rig the helipad flares and set the beacon, but he could detect no trace of them as he brought the helicopter around for the landing.

Duo put distractions out of his mind to focus his concentration on bringing the helo down safely, breathing a sigh of relief as the wheels touched the ground and he began to shut the controls down, eyes constantly scanning the darkness for any hint of movement.

If it was not for the fact that Quatre had called him, and he recognised that voice as being his friend's, then he might have considered Marquise's 'friends' might be at work, aiming to remove him immediately from the scene. If it had been Quatre and he had been forced to make the call… no, Quatre would have warned him. They had set codes for that sort of thing during the war and they were all a bunch of paranoid bastards sure the world was out to get them.

His eyes closed and his hand dipped into the pocket of his flight jacket as his phone rang.

"Yes?"

"What are you waiting for?! Get your arse out of the chopper. You will find a car parked behind the Control Tower. There's a map in the glove compartment, route marked, and the clock is ticking, Duo."

He stared at the disconnected phone for a long moment, scowling and then sighed; he would find nothing out if he did not reach the blonde.

"Trowa is gonna be pissed. I don't know what is going on, but I know somehow it will come back to having my arse in the fire."

He would need to have a few words with Quatre about involving him in another scheme that would, eventually, earn Winner Enterprises a fortune. These schemes always worked out that Quatre increased his holdings after one of these madcap starts, and no one else ever seemed to understood at the beginning what the hell Quatre was up to.

//Again no warning Quatre was being coerced into making this contact, which means everything is above board. If you are being so secretive about it, Kitty Kat… what ever 'It' is...then I guess it's okay. Zechsy wanted me to go to ground.//

The current clandestine activity should make it hard for the organisation Marquise worked for… or rather for the individual or individuals who wanted Marquise out of the picture, to put their grubby little paws on his trail. He would wait and see what Quatre was playing at and when he found out what game was being played he would decide how best to act.

What was happening back at the Preventer's terminal? The not knowing was doing little for his nerves, setting him right on edge. No one had better leap at him from the darkness out there or they would get rather a cold reception. He could feel the knife sheath tucked up his sleeve, ready and waiting to release the blade with just the right muscle action…

Duo released the flight restraints and cast a quick look about the cockpit. He wanted to go back and see what was happening at the Preventer terminal. Marquise had been determined to hunt down the one who had tried to kill him and Duo could understand that… but to go back into the lions den, unarmed and with no back up?

"Idiot."

The mark of a man accustomed to doing things himself, of a man who did not have anyone he could rely on to guard his back. Duo knew what it was to have no one to watch your back, and while there were now strains between he and the other pilots he did not doubt they would watch his back if the need arose.

They had gone up the mountain after all and it would not have been because of Marquise that they did it.

Jumping down from the helicopter, Duo closed and locked the door, hoping Quatre would have someone remove the machine at some point through the night. The removal of the machine would further cloud his activities, making him that much harder to track.

Setting off for the Control Tower at a brisk jog, Duo scanned the tarmac for any hint of another presence. He was sure the night was alive with eyes. Someone was here, lurking, watching, waiting…

//This is stupid. Blonde's are bloody idiots. Dangerous idiots.//

But so, it appeared, was he because he seemed to have little if any control over his life. Did Winner and Marquise feel this same sense of standing on the edge of a precipice, staring over into a bottomless pit… feel the ground beneath their feet beginning to crumble?

Damn it all, he had felt comfortable with Zechs! As comfortable as he felt with Quatre. He did not do that. He was Duo Maxwell, walking paranoia in the flesh, and he did not trust easily! Something had clicked between them and he would have liked longer to really get to know the other man; to explore that acceptance of the older man. To learn if he could trust him.

//Damn its cold.//

Cold and dark. His breath misted in front of this face and his lungs ached the air was so cold. Ice dangled from the eaves of the buildings and fresh snow crunched under his boots, making his footfalls far from silent. The shadows were deep and many and while he had fairly good night vision he could barely see the tarmac under his feet, despite the fresh fall of snow.

The feeling of not being alone in the night was growing stronger and raising his heightened senses to new levels of alarm. The soft crunch of booted feet... behind him. He was in the shadow of the control tower now and he hesitated, about to turn when the unmistakable sounds of the helicopter warming up came through the clear cold air.

Quatre had proven time and time again that he was nothing if not efficient… and he was an exemplary strategist.

The car was where he had been told it would be, on the far side of the tower, and it was cold enough Duo was thankful to throw himself behind the wheel, after first checking in the rear seat. The keys were in the ignition and he started the engine even as he reached for the glove compartment in search of the map. Instant heat from the air conditioner startled him and he hesitated… the car was rather warm.

The tank was full, the engine warm and the interior warmed up against the cold. Who ever had brought the car had abandoned it recently… the very one who now piloted the helicopter? Quatre was very good and Duo was thankful he would not have to freeze any more than he had to.

Opening out the folder he found, the only item in the glove box he noted, Duo studied the map frowning as he realised the round about route led ultimately to the industrial area on the far side of New Port City.

"I suppose I might find a bed before sunrise, if I'm really lucky. How much running around are you going to have me doing?"

Shaking his head slightly Duo considered the route marked out in pink highlighter and grunted softly; there would be no using the GPS for this trip. Time to go and a sticky note attached to the pad informed him he was to avoid breaking speed limits and attracting attention. Discretion, was it?

"Fine, no lead foot, but you owe me an explanation, Kitty Kat and you better make it a good one."

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	3. Chapter 3

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Warriors, Veteran, Pride, Trust

Minor challenge response: Murder, Shadows, Games

Word count: 2,472

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for her work betaing this fic.

Character Challenge: Heero, Une, Zechs

Chapter 3

//Someone is going to die.//

A moment later Heero admonished himself silently, rephrasing his thought from 'is' to 'might'.

He knew Une could be colder than ice and harder than diamonds, but he now realized he had never been unfortunate enough to stand in her presence when she was 'really' cold. She was the consummate professional, admittedly hard nosed and sometimes she bordered on that earlier warped persona from the war that had threatened to destroy a colony without so much as blinking an eye.

This Une was… different.

This Une was very, very dangerous.

The Antarctic wastes were a tropical paradise in comparison to the chill the Commander was emitting as she stared down the man identified as Bradford. The chill was purely psychological, her countenance was expressionless, neutral, but a cold aura, the certainty of death, hung about her. A promise, not a threat.

Disturbingly the man at the focus of that glacial glare gave every appearance of being impervious, giving her as good as he got in the staring contest.

Herero decided Bradford needed to work on his aura a little more. Une, in his view, won for the sheer frigidness of the chill factor. Perhaps it was the diminutive size of her compared to the bulk of the man she fronted, but whatever it was, Une was an expertly cut and polished diamond to his cloudy uncut base.

The white van was quickly enfolded in the darkness, lost to their sight though not so soon to their hearing, and still Bradford stood and glared at the slender woman standing between him and the helicopter. He would not have been surprised if one of the two should draw a weapon and begin a fire fight. The tension was stretching to the point where something, or someone, would have to break and when that happened someone would, at the least, be injured and at worst killed.

A quick shift of his eyes showed Chang looked to be on a hair trigger, though most people would miss the tell tale signs that marked him at his most dangerous. Those dark, almond shaped eyes were just that little bit too narrow and there was a 'waiting' aura emanating from him.

The professional's calm patience before the inevitable bloodshed.

Barton might have been a statue, poised, hands clear of weapons and within arms reach of Une. His stillness was deceptive. Heero had known him and worked with him long enough to know he was one small stage from grabbing the woman they worked under. In the blink of an eye he could have Une behind him and a knife buried in Bradford's heart.

That cold, impassive look was reminiscent of the big cats he had worked with at the circus, seemingly unconcerned but fully aware of everything in its territory and ready to defend it to the death. Thus far the discipline Barton had leaned at the hands of a mercenary band was holding him in check.

Bradford considered himself good, not in the braggart boasting way so many others did, but in the cold calculation and confidence in his own abilities that required he could remain mute and hold his own with a look. Heero suddenly ached for the chance to try him and determine for himself if Bradford was as good as he thought himself to be.

If they tangled, if one of them so much as twitched now, Heero did not doubt it would result in a death match.

He had always prided himself on keeping things professional. Knowing the limits of his assignment and performing the mission to the best of his ability had been his life for so long it was second nature to him. He had every confidence in his skills and the strength of will to carry the mission out, and he had never come across another person who, on sight, just begged a fight to the death.

Never... before now.

Not even Zechs Marquise of the Oz Specials had provoked this instant hostility in him.

There was something about Bradford that he wanted to challenge.

He had understood Zechs, and Milliardo too, and had no real clash with the man on a personal level. He even understood what it was Zechs had been doing with his seeming insanity on board the Libra. Heero had refused the offer to join him and instead had played the part set out for him, as it seemed to him he must on that long ago day… but he had never hated the man.

Bradford, whom he had never spoken to, who he did not know, was something else.

A small voice deep inside whispered the world would be a nicer place without that one walking around.

He had grown up enough during the war and in the intervening years to know, and acknowledge, that the Gundam Pilots were not the only elite soldiers. Nor were they the only elites struggling to find a niche for themselves in this world that was decidedly unkind to those who had fought to bring about the peace.

He and two others of the five Gundam Pilots had found Preventers best salved their need to face some action and make it count for the peace. He, Chang and Barton were child soldiers, children of war, and this Bradford was no different to them in that respect. He would be a former elite soldier, most likely with the Alliance Special Assault Squadron, or perhaps the Alliance Special Task Force.

One thing Heero was sure of was that Bradford was not Oz Specials. If Bradford had been an officer of the Oz Specials he would not now be standing there openly eyeballing Une as though he wanted to gut her.

How many others like them were out there in the world, looking for something to believe in? Looking for some intangible 'thing' that meant something to them?

How many operatives were standing in the dark around this shadow shrouded tarmac? How many of Bradford's people were veterans, steeped in the blood and guts of the war? How many of them had been elites for years and suddenly found themselves decommissioned? How many of them were cast adrift with little in the way of deprogramming and retraining to assist them in finding a new occupation in life as productive citizens of a civilization at peace?

How many former elites were a part of this operational team? What equipment did they have to draw on? Did they have any artillery hidden in the dark that could wipe out the helo and the four Preventers at a word from Bradford? Did Bradford's controllers feel themselves to be ready to take on Preventers openly? Did they feel confident enough to take out the Commander and three of her top profile agents?

It was not as though the ESUN Council did not consider them all to be a problem. They were classed as walking trouble; he had read enough reports to know that and Une was watched as closely as the Gundam Pilots.

What was the man waiting for?

//What the fuck has Zechs got us all into?//

Unfair.

Marquise had told them to stay out of it. He had made it plain he did not consider their assistance to be required and he would deal with the matter himself. The question was, would they be given the choice of staying out of the loop or were they committed by default?

The night was preternaturally quiet. In the still, cold air sound was oddly amplified and Heero could fancy he could hear a succession of sounds; small sounds that might be some small animal foraging in the snow banks... sounds that might equally be the tell tale movements of an operations team shifting position.

It was sub audio, not really audible except for the unnatural stillness of the night air. His heightened awareness was something he could not control, and in a situation as tense as this he had no wish to dumb it down. To survive one needed all the help one could get and it was not imagination, that low, slow buzz. He felt his ears actually shift in a primordial response, an attempt to trace the almost heard, almost 'felt' sound.

Purely primal instinct enhanced by modern science.

Radio signal.

Bradford's.

Three short, one long.

Recall?

Or the signal to take them down?

Not a word spoken between them, the soldier and the Commander, but it was a challenge laid down and accepted. Une did not so much as bat an eyelash. Chang was statue still, a piece of oriental alabaster, dangerous, understanding of the gauntlet thrown. Barton remained unmoved, close enough to protect Une… close enough to slip a knife between Bradford's ribs if the need was there.

//It might save us all a great deal of trouble if he did.//

But that was not how Preventer worked.

They had chosen to join the organization to keep the peace, not just to salve their personal need to be needed. He wanted a piece of Bradford but this, Heero accepted, was neither the time nor the place for that confrontation to occur.

Not yet, but it very likely would come. He would not go out of his way to avoid it.

But one twitch would be enough to send them at his throat…

A regulation parade ground turn, no word offered, and Bradford strode into the shadows with a confident free swinging stride. It was a clear demonstration he had no concern for them taking action against him.

//Cocky prick.//

—————————————

Une remained unmoved as Bradford disappeared into the night, careful to project an unaffected arrogance of her own. She had the advantage of having a dossier on Bradford from her days working for Treize Khushrenada. He might have changed his hair style and beefed up a bit physically, but he was still the Bradford in the dossier. She had no illusions about the arrogance he was capable of.

He had cause to be arrogant.

He was good. Very good.

She might have succeeded in enlisting three of the Gundam Pilots into Preventer but she was only too aware there were other elite soldiers out there. There was entirely too much arrogance loose in the Earth Sphere. From the surviving elite soldiers to the pacifist faction politicians currently calling the shots and failing their society by their failure to provide adequate debriefing, retraining and repatriation of the soldiers.

There was too much arrogance in the world, and still too much game playing.

They would wreck the peace if she and her Preventers could not contain matters.

All she had worked for, all that He had done, including dying, would be for nothing because of the dumb, pigheaded arrogance of the human species.

This entire mess was, in a way, her fault. She should have ensured Marquise was eliminated, at the least brought firmly back under the badge of the Preventers on his return from Mars. The man was too much the meddler to be permitted loose reign and Noin had made far too many mistakes to keep him contained to tolerable levels.

Marquise had cut the ties loose that bound him to Noin, and to Preventer, and that made him dangerous. There was no steadying influence with him isolated and he tended to take a dim view on assassination.

Of course the political faction now making its move to take over the Organization had made a deadly mistake in not succeeding in murdering the irritating man. They would find that out soon enough and, personally, she did not want to be anywhere nearby when he made his move. He was not the sort of man you tried to kill, and fail in the attempt, and then NOT expect him to demand you pay retribution.

It would be nice if she dared to leave the affair to him, but Marquise had a way of striking hard and in a spectacular fashion. Knowing his past as well as she did, there was no question of her stepping back and leaving him to it. He could, potentially, explode the current peace into millions of fragments worth less than a single grain of space dust.

Peacecrafts never did anything, even die, on a small scale.

One. Two… three engines in the night, the subdued growl of powerful motors slowly fading into silence.

"The area is clear, Commander." The voice was barely audible, so low was the volume and received over the Bluetooth attachment coiled around her right ear, hidden by the fall of her hair.

It was some small relief but she was well aware it was possible the Organization's contingent could pull over and fire a guided missile into the helo. But she knew it would not happen. Not tonight. It appeared they were not, as yet, ready to test Preventer… but it would come.

This fiasco with Marquise had the potential to be birthed from someone's speculation that he might still be working for Preventer.

They had made the first move and it had been brilliantly executed… but it had failed. Had others thought this deep into why the assassination attempt had been made? If no one else saw this deep into the action then at least she had and she would need to be prepared.

Her response to the incident and the involvement of her Preventers would be closely monitored. They were testing the waters and they should have known better than to make the test using Marquise as the target. Someone should have thought he might survive the attempt and considered how large a chunk out of their arse he would bite in retaliation.

He was, if nothing else, inventive. He would retaliate, sooner or later, and while he kept them occupied she would have to prepare for the long term.

Hard eyed she turned to watch as Chang, Yuy and Barton cleared the helo. Young as they were each was steeped in blood. They were professionals and elite in their respective fields. Each one had proven themselves capable of taking orders other agents might find unpalatable and back away from. These young men she could count on to do the job in the name of keeping the peace.

They had made it possible for her to succeed at her work and not have to make use of the Black Ops organization any more than three times over the past six years. The pilots were her ace in the hole, her trump cards, and she needed to be wary of over playing them.

Gundam pilots without Gundams, but still elite. Still capable and willing to fight for the peace.

They were her hope of maintaining the peace through increasingly turbulent times.

The question was, if she needed to give the order, could she trust them to take down Marquise?

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	4. Chapter 4

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Shadows, Trust,

Minor challenge response: Legend, Veteran, Anger

Word count: 3,415

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Many thanks to Katie for betaing this chapter.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge: Trowa, Quatre and Duo

Chapter 4

The streets were mostly deserted, the snow ploughs yet to clear some of the city's roads of the accumulated overnight snowfall and Duo drove with a great deal of care. It was hours yet to dawn and the still lowering temperature of the air was fast turning the accumulated snow to ice. The last thing he wanted was to lose control of the car and end up in some ditch or wrapped around a telegraph pole.

He pulled over beneath a street lamp and angled the map as best he could to catch the light. If possible he would not use the car's interior light; doing so would make it easier for any potential enemy to identify him, and trusting to other light sources for him to find his way was less of a risk. He was almost clear of the residential areas and would soon enter the light industrial sector if he continued to follow the marked route. Had he taken the direct route from A to B he would long ago have reached his destination. As it was, he had been driving for more than an hour and he was tired, cranky and heartily fed up with his night time tour of residential New Port City.

It was all in the interests of security, this infernal roundabout of creeping around in the dark and trying to lose a tail that was not there.

He was not being followed, at least not that he could see, and he had certainly been watching for it. At the best of times he was known for certain paranoia, but this cloak and dagger stuff was getting to him. He had tried every trick in the book, and a few original ideas of his own, to determine if he had a tail, but the simple truth of the matter was there was not sufficient traffic on the roads to hide anyone who might be intent on following him.

Any and every sane person was tucked up warm and safe at home instead of being out on a freezing Sancian winter's night.

"Just goes to show how sane I am."

But he could well understand the need to be careful. He was not, either by nature or upbringing, as trusting as Quatre and, from the evidence of this convoluted roundabout of a route chosen for him, Quatre was not trusting at all.

"I want answers, Kitty Kat, and after giving me this much of a run around you had better have them ready for me."

The night was full of shadows and the shadows were full of the hints of movement everywhere he looked. A cat slinking across newly fallen snow, a dog looking for scraps in a knocked over wheely bin. He passed the occasional car on the road and found himself briefly wondering what their business was that had them out and about on so bitter a night.

But it was more than thieves and spies who haunted the night. In fact, thieves and spies were in the minority of those who were abroad in the midnight hours.

Late night workers, shift workers, undoubtedly the odd clandestine lover coming or going from a midnight assignation…. He was far from alone. They would be people who had no interest in him, who were living their lives as they always did, unaware of the dark and murky world he moved in. Ordinary, every day people with ordinary and every day cares. He would have liked to be just another one of them; ordinary, with an ordinary life to enjoy… but he was anything but ordinary.

They were the stuff of legend, the Gundam pilots. They were heroes, warriors who fought for independence and freedom for all, shining examples of humanity….

Well, they were supposed to be.

What a crock.

What a load of utter bullshit.

He knew the truth, the real truth, and so did the others even if they did not talk about it. His friends, his fellow Gundam pilots, they all knew how it really was, but for their own reasons they refused to face it. It was not a nice thing to face up to, he admitted that, but he was not afraid to stare the truth in the face and acknowledge it… or was it that he was afraid NOT to face it?

Maybe. Whatever, he faced it and acknowledged it and that was that.

He at least had the guts not to hide from himself.

He didn't try to live the life others determined he should live just to show he was not a danger to anyone and that he could fit in as others dictated he should. That was a lie and he was not one who lied piecemeal. He was not permitting himself to be tied down by the weight of 'their' disapproval and 'their' expectation that he would obey without question.

At any time he could be caught, reeled in by those he refused to bow down to and be disposed of. He was no hero in their eyes, just someone who was infinitely disposable, because he refused to play the game by their rules.

One Gundam pilot, one man, was too dangerous to be running free without some form of restraint containing him to set limits-and he was tired of it.

He wondered if Quatre was as tired as he, and if, perhaps, this was not the moment in which Quatre had decided to break free and he was about to be caught up in it. Was Quatre trying to protect himself, or was he trying to protect himself and Duo… or was it that, having made his decision to break out of the preferred mould, Quatre had decided they needed to protect the other three?

Or did it have anything to do with what had happened up on the mountain? It could be that Quatre had a burr in his engine about another recently perceived injustice only he could clandestinely right for the good of all involved. Duo had aided and abetted a number of such privately funded missions in the past, though for this run around to be linked to one of those missions Quatre would have had to know about it weeks ago and would have included him in the planning.

So…. This was something to do with what had happened on the mountain? But if that was the case, why would he get involved?

/I don't get it, he has the company to think of. There are so many people reliant on Winner Enterprises throughout the Earth Sphere that he surely would not just walk away from it and dive in head first?/

They had known nothing about Marquise a few days ago, not where he was or what he was doing… or that he would need help. No, he was not seeing the whole picture and it was surely too soon for Quatre to see any more than he did… less in fact, as his friend had not had the benefits of actually speaking to Marquise.

Still, this was Quatre and sometimes it was hard to tell what he would do from one minute to the next. Quatre had always been unpredictable, though he had an uncanny insight into how other people reacted from moment to moment. That 'thing', the 'space heart', the empathy, that marked him as being different to everyone else might have had an effect on him. It might, Duo mused, have driven him to do something that seemed insanely stupid in the eyes of everyone else but made perfect sense to Quatre himself.

Folding the map to a manageable size covering the next section of the marked streets, Duo considered the route and glanced around to check for observers. As he had expected there were no visible observers, not even a stray cat to watch him, but that 'wrong' bump still itched and Duo snorted softly as he pulled away from the curb and drove through the streets of the suburb with care. Gradually the houses became more separated, becoming fewer in number with wider spaces between and Duo entered the zoned light industrial area.

A snow plough worked to clear the roads before the morning traffic began to brave the icy conditions, a spew of dirty snow and ice flying out to form a bank along the roadside and Duo was just thankful the plough had already cleared his side of the street. The Sancians well knew their climate and were efficient at clearing away the snow, even the windfall from raging blizzards only took a day or two to clear from most of the city.

As the snow plough vanished into the night behind him he chanced a glance at the map, following the highlighted route to where it stopped just within the boundary of the heavy industrial area. It was only a few minutes from his position on this arterial route he currently drove.

His attention was drawn to an approaching set of flashing lights that marked an aircraft flying low over the buildings… flying too low. He slowed a little, peering out into the night, straining his eyesight to make out the black, unmarked helicopter. Taking a deep breath he wound down the window, slowing right down in a broad patch of shadow as he watched, listening carefully to the heavy thump of the rotors as it disappeared into the night.

It had been a heavy machine, capable of carrying a quite a few tons of weight in its extended belly, or it was, possibly, a converted troop carrier. His hands tightened on the wheel and his eyes narrowed to little more than slits as he considered the possibility it might have been a troop carrier and the events that had been taking place at the air terminal on the far side of New Port City.

But they would not have lingered at the air terminal for this long. A quick in and out; that was what the operation would have been to pick up Marquise. Might it be involved in that situation? Despite the time passed might it be sheltering Marquise? Perhaps taking him… somewhere?

Possibly to his death? Or might Marquise already be suitably 'disposed of' to placate whoever it was who had marked him as a dead man? Marquise had been sure he could deal with whatever might happen on returning to New Port City, and he was neither a fool nor a push over.

/I really don't know enough about Marquise to judge him. I don't know how his mind works or even what drove him to do what he did during the war, but… /

It was, when it came down to it, a matter of trust and Duo, despite not knowing Marquise beyond their few days acquaintance caught in a snow storm on the slopes of a mountain, thought he could trust the man.

"Shit that's a scary thought."

He did not trust easily and somehow Marquise had gotten past his guard.

Duo found his hands gripping tight to the steering wheel, his tension level rising even as his body screamed it wanted an end to the tension. He ached from the tightness of holding himself together, of restraining himself from not hitting out at something, anything. He really, desperately wanted to hit something.

Quatre was waiting for him and he would, soon enough, find out what his friend was involving himself in, and he would help Quatre with whatever it was… that was what friends did. He would watch Quatre's back and Quatre would watch his, that's the way they were, friends and comrades. It was what they did for each other, and he would keep low on the radar even as he searched out what information he could find on the organization Marquise was involved in.

He would need to be careful about what information he gave to Quatre though. The last thing he wanted was to drag his friend into this sordid little story. Quatre did not have anything to do with Zechs Marquise and that was how Duo wanted it to stay. Whatever Quatre knew about what had happened up on the mountain it was enough and hopefully whatever operation he had underway, with whatever outcome Quatre intended, Duo was determined to keep his meddlesome blonde friend out of trouble.

"You won't be happy with me, Kitty Kat, but it's for your own good. I have no idea what game you are playing, but I'll help you carry it off, whatever it might, be, and I will not get you involved with what went on up on the mountain."

Trowa certainly would not thank him for involving Quatre in the mess and given the number of people reliant on Quatre… yes it was best to keep him out of the mess. Duo was relatively sure Trowa Barton would be able to spin a decent version of events that would distract Quatre. Duo would merely have to survive long enough for Trowa to get involved.

If nothing else, Trowa could always drag Quatre to bed and distract him in a rather physical and enjoyable fashion. When was the last time he had gotten some? Damn, no, better not to go down that particular road, he had made enough mistakes in his life without adding yet another to his long list. When you lived as he lived, close to being on the run, haunted by the blood soaked past, unable to settle it within his psyche, it took someone special to understand and get close to you.

Someone very special. Quatre and Trowa had that but he and Hilde… no. No they had not been graced with that particular understanding, despite her military background and participation in the war. They were just too different in the long term to make it work, their experiences and thought processes in facing their personal pasts were too far apart. Of the Gundam Pilots only Quatre and Trowa had found that understanding.

"I hope Une's not intending to take all night to debrief them. The sooner Trowa finds out where Quatre is, and what he's up to, the better."

Which brought his mind back to his whereabouts and why he was driving the streets instead of enjoying a hot shower and snugging down into a real bed. What was Quatre up to and why was he out of the mansion they all called home at this hour of the night and not, if he had to be up to deal with some business emergency, was he not at his office?

Was he setting up a clandestine mission? And if so, why? There could not have been too many rebel groups holding orphanages for ransom in the world, or an incident of industrial espionage involving dangerous plans related to the military, past or future.

"What are you cooking up, Kitty Kat? I'm getting too old for this shit, Quatre, and you are supposed to be the respectable business man."

Entering the heavy industrial sector Duo glanced around, looking for the best spot to pull over and check the map. There had to be more instructions forthcoming, or he had missed something on the map, because he was now entering the area where the highlighter for his route finished. He jumped a little as the phone hidden in his pocket rang and, snorting softly at his own nerves, he slowed the car as he fished around for it.

"Yeah?"

"The semi ahead of you." Quatre's voice came over the phone and Duo thought he sounded tired. "See you shortly."

Duo stared at the phone as the connection was cut and he swore. "What the fuck sort of directions is that? 'The semi ahead of you.' What about the semi ahead of me… and what semi? There's no… oh."

Up ahead, from a side lane, a black semi trailer pulled onto the main road and Duo steadied his pace back a little and watched as the back of the plain trailer slowly began to lower and lower… forming a ramp as it tilted toward the roads surface. A shower of sparks marked the point where the ramp hit the road and Duo's jaw gaped as it became apparent what he was expected to do.

"You have got to be shitting me?"

It was not going to be exactly easy to match the speed of his car to the speed of the truck, but he would be expected to have the car mount the ramp, enter the vehicle's trailer and stop the car before he slammed into the far end. And there was a figure standing at the back with a flashing light, urging him to put his life on the line and get his arse in the trailer.

"No fucking way!"

One mistake, one tiny insignificant little mistake, and he would be worse than simply wrapped around a telegraph pole. Glancing at the speedometer he blanched; that truck was not exactly slowing down.

"And I thought it was a bloody long day up on the mountain."

Firming his resolve, and heartily cursing his friend for his penchant for spy movies, Duo pressed the accelerator down, steadily building speed to catch up to the moving vehicle.

He was Duo Maxwell, first rate pilot. He could ram a shuttle down the neck of a space station, he could pilot a mobile suit dodging rapid fire artillery intent on taking him out… he could do this. But his heart was in his mouth as he stared at the approaching ramp.

/Not good, not good. Not fucking good./

He really wanted to close his eyes as he felt the tyres of the car hit the ramp and he floored the accelerator, trying to gain enough acceleration to mount the ramp, his heart in his mouth as the car began to rise. Coming up over the crest of the ramp he realized the person had, thankfully, vanished and he was not about to run the idiot over.

He was not sure he was breathing as the front wheels hit the bed of the trailer and he was jamming on the breaks to try to stop his forward momentum, praying the back of the car had cleared the ramp even as he watched the oncoming front wall of the trailer with wide eyes.

It was too close!

Duo was thrown forward from the impact of the car slamming into the wall, but he had succeeded in slowing the car sufficiently to spare himself any injury. The airbag exploded in his face and the engine cut out with a ragged snarl on impact and he stared into the mass of white that cushioned his face and body and realised he was shaking.

He was vaguely aware of Quatre's voice somewhere close, but all he could see or think of was the white of the airbag and how the blessed thing had stopped him from head butting the windscreen or having the steering wheel imbedded in his chest and he had the back wall of the truck awfully quickly. Either he had been moving faster than he had thought himself to be, or the trailer was shorter than it had looked.

"Duo, are you alright? Duo, look at me!"

The airbag deflated and he slumped forward without its support, but strong hands were on his shoulders and pulled him back from the wheel, a hand seemed to search him, patting him down and the gabbling voices were just a little too fast for him to comprehend.

"Enough! Back away from the car, you too, Master Quatre. Give him a chance to catch his breath."

He knew that big booming voice. It belonged to a behemoth of a man and the hand that next touched him was huge, the spread fingers reaching almost the width of his chest.

"Rashid?" It was barely the ghost of a whisper, for some reason his heart felt as though it was still in his mouth and it was hard to get words out around it. "That… is that… you, Rashid?"

"Yes, Mr. Maxwell. Take a moment, please."

"Where… where's Quatre?"

"Master Quatre is here. You can see him in a few minutes, when you stop shaking. I will have some tea prepared."

"Nah." Duo shook himself, forcing himself to focus and looked into the dark eyes of the big man. "Just do me a favour and look the other way while I kill the son of a bitch!"

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	5. Chapter 5

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Codes, Conspiracy, Organization, Trust

Minor challenge response: Warrior, Shadow

Word count: 2,529

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for betaing this fic.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 5

His primary advantage was that none of these men, or their controllers, understood how he did what he did. Missions were assigned to him, the result outlined as they desired, and the means of the mission's success was left up to him. That was how he had insisted it be before he had signed with them. On missions that required multiple personnel he was careful to operate in a shielded manner to guard his secret.

He was good at what he did and that was why he had been approached in the days following his return to Earth. He had been well aware of being watched, even on Mars, and he had wondered when, if, his watchers would dare to approach him. It had almost come as a surprise when they finally had and, as he had come to expect of them, they had chosen their time carefully.

Dead men tell no tales. Walking dead men who needed to stay dead were considered a rare and useful commodity. Noin had seemed incapable of understanding he had to remain dead and a normal life would be forever denied him. It was why he had done what he had, breaking her heart and ensuring he did it in a manner that would not see her bend her pride to try again.

He was a bastard, as she had taken pains to point out to him at their last meeting. A bastard and undeniably a cruel one, he had had to be to get her to live a life that did not involve him… but not heartless, despite her vicious accusation. He had broken her heart so that she could put it back together without him factoring into her future plans and he had done it for her own good.

Noin should be free of 'their' eye, and as a Preventer under Une she should be well protected in the coming days. Une looked after her own.

You could cut the air with a knife for all Marcus sprawled so casually across the floor of the van, his back pressed to the stretcher, just at a level with Zechs' knee. His long copper red hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck with a plain black band and his ragged fringe softened the line of his glasses. Though those green eyes were now closed Zechs was not fooled.

The man was quite deadly.

The com officer kept his attention focused on his equipment, monitoring civilian and military bands alike. How far they would travel to reach the designated extraction point Zechs had no idea, but he could not afford to relax his guard. Friends could so easily be enemies and, in his line of work, it did not do to label anyone a friend and forget how friends could, in fact, be one's worst enemy.

Marcus was perhaps the closest of his associates that he might consider worthy of the distinction. Might. They had worked as a team on numerous occasions… and they had worked well together. He suspected Marcus had a better understanding of what he could do, and how he did it, than their mutual Commanders, which was fair enough as he knew exactly what the other man was capable of.

In some aspects they were too much alike.

He was the Red Celt of the group. The hair was a dead give away, that fiery copper cascade. In another time and in another country the copper mane might have marked him above others. He came from an old bloodline, one as old and distinctive as Zechs' own, and Zechs found his dreams were… interesting. The red haired operative's ancestry was made up of the stuff of legend and because of it, more than anyone else, Marcus understood his standoff attitude and penchant for solitude.

Marcus, after all, was another with reason to prefer not to be bothered by social niceties unless there was work to be done.

Only the glowing coloured lights and panels from the computer station lifted the gloom in the van. The darkness did not bother Zechs, after all the heavy shadow was good for him and he did not mind the limits it set on his sight. The others, after all, were bound by the same limits to normal vision.

He did not need sight, not for what he would do should the need arise. Shadow was better for that; it hid his darkness after all, allowing him to keep anonymity. Nor did it appear to bother the other field operative who leaned so casually against the stretcher, shifting slightly so that his back rested against Zechs' leg.

Ice blue eyes flicked from the com officer to the red head for a fleeting second and back, aware the interior of the van could be under surveillance. He could expect nowhere to be free of scrutiny for some time to come, and while he intended to find out who was out to silence him… and exactly why that was… he was not intending to outstay the safety limits he had set for himself.

He was not of a mind to die.

Not now.

Not when he had found someone who, like himself, was displaced from society though he could still walk abroad in the full light of day.

Maxwell had struck him as being as solitary as he, not by nature but by design, though he had friends surrounding him. He could walk abroad in full view without the media splashing tales of death and destruction, madness and mayhem from a dead man.

How many people out in the real world were the same? How many of the people who populated this sad excuse for a civilization were alone, even as they stood within the midst of a crowd? It was not a rarity but an all too common occurrence to be alone in a crowd. Too often your friends did not know you, nor you them. Not really. You were extremely fortunate if you had someone you could really call a friend.

Maxwell had friends but even friends could fail you, misunderstand you… push you too far.

But at least Duo Maxwell had friends who were willing to step in if the situation deteriorated to the point he needed help.

Maybe, just maybe, what had happened up on that mountain meant that he now had a friend.

V.

Perhaps more than one?

His eyes skimmed over the red head, head tilted forward as though he dozed, and back around the van. The muted rumble of the wheels told him the van had been well insulated against sound… and it appeared far warmer than the back of the Preventer helicopter had been.

I...K.

How far did they have to go? How far, how long would it be before they arrived at their destination?

I.

What could he realistically expect to await him there?

N.

A reception committee? Certainly, of one sort or another. A death warrant? More than possible, though he doubted such would be the case. It would be… messy. The organization prided itself on neatness… until they had hit out at him… and now? Well, he would simply have to wait to find out.

G.

Someone to debrief him? Someone to ask him why he had vanished as he had? Someone to defy all sense and sensibility and simply put a gun to his head and pull the trigger?

As if he would stand for that.

No more? The small tensing of muscles against his leg had ceased.

V.I.K.I.N.G.

Viking? Ah.

They had teased each other about it relentlessly since they had first met, he with his white blonde Nordic looks and the lithe red head with the Celtic designs tattooed into his skin. That teasing was known to others, but there were some things that were less well known. On a mission he and Marcus had shared the need had arisen for them to devise their own code, being uncertain at the time who could be trusted. The mole in the organization had been dealt with, but neither he nor Marcus had seen any need to inform others of their own peculiar form of communication.

They had used it to warn each other of the mercurial moods of their superiors of late and, as it proved, they should have paid their surroundings more attention and then he might not have been taken unawares.

Well then, he had questions and this was neither the time nor the place to ask them, but he could at least determine how Marcus viewed the severity of the current situation.

C...E...L...T. Minute flexes of the muscles, not enough to be visible but enough, given the position of the other man, to be felt and read.

Any response that might be forthcoming would be telling. Marcus looked relaxed, bored to the point he dozed. He had looked no different on the other shared missions when, at need, people died suddenly… neatly.

T.

Just that initial letter was enough to inform him of the shit Marcus considered himself to be in.

H.

So it was not just he who was on the hunted list? Not good then.

O.

Marcus might not be tagged for elimination, but it would appear he was, at the very least, treading a fine line.

R.

Thor. Yes that was warning enough, given their current surroundings. But did Marcus have an out?

D...R...U...I...D.

Today, would he be the Druid, the Celtic magician, or would he be the Warrior?

A.

Eh? That was not the response he had anticipated.

R...T.

Not good. Not good at all.

H...U.

So they were in that much trouble? The infiltration, the take over, could it possibly have travelled that high in the organization?

R.

Arthur. The King, Arthur, not Gwain the warrior knight but the king. Not Merlin, the Druidic magician.

He wished he could cover his eyes, put a hand to his face and hide from the world just for a second or two, but that might be a second too long. And it would be too revealing.

L...O...K...I

He had not been out of the loop for a full week and already they had moved so far as to rise to the top echelon of the organization. He had wanted to take down the one who had ordered his death, certain as he was that the one who had carried out the attempt would already have been silenced. They would not have wanted him to get his hands on the assassin, if he should chance to survive the attempt, and they knew now he was indeed alive. If the assassin had not been killed on his return, the poor fool would not have survived an hour after word of his survival had been received.

They would be covering their backs, ensuring he could not get to them.

Loki, he would take on that role if he needed to, giving himself over to world wrecking mischief, though it was not his intention to wreck the world. He had fought too long and too hard, given up too much, to see it all come to wrack and ruin. It was Relena's peace and he had given everything for her to enjoy it.

He could be Thor, and had been in the past, his lightning transforming the world far more dynamically than Loki's mischief.

Could he, somehow, limit the damage and make something of it and in the process NOT bring down the organization? Could he somehow still make it work?

Marcus was too still, no minute twitch to give him any more. Thinking, no doubt, as he was, of what their actions might do. Zechs had no doubt at all that he could bring down the organization and with it much of the structure of the currant world leadership, but was that for the greater good? He could not afford to cater to his own whims when the fate of his sister's peace hung in the balance.

He had willingly thrust the world into chaos at the side of Treize Khushrenada, hoping to teach a lesson that could not be forgotten. He had fought Barton's forces, waiting as he did so for proof that his past efforts, the loss of life and chaos they had dared, had been worth it. And he had been vindicated, though no one would understand his feelings… none of them understood what the entire grand design had been for.

They, the people, had come to defend their peace, to tell the invader they did not need him… and it had been enough to quiet his conscience at last.

Was he expected to sit back and allow another to quietly step up in the shadows and pull strings to organize the world the way they chose? To gain the power they desired? To have the power to strike from the shadows, to be an assassin of the peace itself? They would be pretender defenders, defending only what they chose to defend that best benefitted them.

How far could he trust anyone? How far dare he trust Marcus? Something would have to be done, but what? For what reason?

Preventers would be targeted and if his suspicions were right their funding would begin to suffer. Funding cuts at first, small, seemingly insignificant, but over a period of years it would be disastrous. It was what the organization did and they did it very well indeed. Une was no fool; she would see it, recognize it. Whether she would have the connections to resist it… that was something else.

The van skidded sideways, Marcus swearing as he was forced to grab onto the stretcher with one hand, the wall with the other as the van swayed, steadying and then speeding up. The com officer was clutching his consol, saved from being tipped out of his seat only by that desperate grasp.

Was this it then? Was the van being forced off the road? Were they all about to be killed, the com officer and driver being considered to be nothing but collateral damage? If he and Marcus were targeted…

But the vehicle did not stop, nor did it career out of control and after a few seconds Marcus settled back down, scowling, clearly unhappy.

"How much bloody longer?"

And they were slowing down, almost but not quite stopping. The van was turning, into a driveway or onto another road Zechs could not be sure which. A rougher road certainly and he knew with the vibration of the tyres he would not be able to make out any further message from his associate. For the moment he would need to wait and see what happened.

"Got that, Control. Will advise when ready for departure." The com officer reached to twist the frequency dial and leaned back in his seat, inclining his head to sweep the two men watching him with a stony look. "Mobile med station ahead."

Mobile medical station? Zechs bit his cheek to stop himself from swearing, to stop any visible reaction at all. There was no way in hell he was going to allow them to pump him full of what could potentially be a lethal drug.

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	6. Chapter 6

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Argue, Anger, Respect

Minor challenge response: Shadows

Word count: 2,028

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for betaing this fic.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 6

He was not amused and he was not going to swallow his anger simply because Quatre was… well… his friend.

Friends did not toss you off the deep end of the pier at low tide or, in this case, expect you to drive up a ramp and into the belly of a semi at near to top speed and NOT warn you that you only had a little more than half of the trailer in which to pull up.

Friends gave you warnings about little details like that.

And just what the hell was Quatre doing running around New Port City in the back of a semi trailer anyway?

It was just wrong.

It was surreal, the whole impossible situation.

From the moment he had set foot on the mountain and found Marquise, to his homecoming and this drive through New Port City's night time streets. On the mountain he had been constantly spooked by the shadows surrounding them, knowing something lurked within them… knowing that somehow Marquise was at the heart of that fear.

He did not spook easily.

He knew the meaning of fear, he had fought in the war and knew what it was to live with fear… but this had been different.

He had expected to return to some sense of normality, and his return had thus far proven to be anything but normal.

Quatre was not where he should have been- safely at home- an anchor for him to catch and hold on to. Instead he was in the last place Duo would ever expect to find him. Quatre should have been at home, beside himself with worry, that was what Quatre did, or working late at the office but… he should not be here.

And he hated tea!

The mug sat before him on the small table squashed into a corner of the walled off section separating them from the main body of the trailer. Rashid had hauled him into the small room allowing no one near him, particularly not Quatre, and presented him with the black tea. He would have preferred coffee, but he supposed the stimulant effect of his usual strength brew would be the last thing Rashid wanted him to charge up on.

Tea was supposed to be soothing, relaxing him after his ordeal.

Punching Quatre in the nose was what would sooth him, not some fancy named dried leaves.

"I will not permit Master Quatre to enter until you have drunk the tea and you have, at the least, ceased to shake."

Rashid blocked the door, his vast bulk filling the small space and going a long way to making Duo feel claustrophobic.

"Don't like tea."

Damn, he sounded like a sulky kid.

"There are many things in this world we do not approve of, many of them we unfortunately can not avoid. Drinking that cup of tea belongs in the 'we can not avoid' category."

Well, wasn't Rashid a smart arse this evening? And if he was being treated like a kid why shouldn't he act like one?

"I suppose you think I should just ignore it?"

"Fighting will serve no purpose." The big man sounded infinitely reasonable, an island of calm in the middle of chaos.

Infuriating. He really wanted to punch something… someone.

"Punching the crap out of him will wear out a bit of the adrenaline and give me a damn fine sense of satisfaction!"

Well that was a lengthy pause and the cup of tea was still on the table and he… Mmm, now that looked appetising but no, he would not be distracted.

"Drink your tea, Master Duo."

No don't be distracted. He had every right to be pissed off at Quatre and no one was going to convince him otherwise.

"Just one punch, Rashid. Just one swing at him."

One would be better than nothing and if he was quick he might just get in a second before anyone could stop him. He really needed to relive the tension somehow and sex sure as hell was off the list of possibilities. The next best thing had to be punching the daylights out of someone.

"Tea."

The man had a one track mind.

"I don't have time for this shit. I need to find out what is going on."

"Then drink your tea before it gets cold."

He was an infuriating bastard, but he was a huge infuriating bastard and Duo had learned to respect him and his convictions. He only wished he had someone to stand guard-stone for him the way Rashid and his people did for Winner.

"Dried leaves reconstituted in water are not some magical cure all, Rashid. I'm still going to be pissed with him and want to darken his daylights for him."

"That is abundantly clear, Master Duo, and I cannot say that I blame you given the circumstances. You demonstrated consummate skill in getting the car to stop in such a short distance."

"A fucking steel wall stopped the car!"

"Duo? I'm sorry, but we really can't afford to be seen just now and we can't afford to be followed either."

A quick glare over his shoulder and he found Rashid still blocked the doorway. Quatre must have been directly behind the behemoth of a man and he did sound contrite… sort of.

"Hmmmph."

"You don't know what has been happening, Duo. It's not safe."

It's not safe? No shit! He was the one who had been up on that mountain. He was the one who had had his hair curled by the… whatever it was Marquise could do. He knew full well it wasn't safe!

"It sure as hell isn't safe when your friends try to make paste of you!"

"I learned many things about you during the war, only one of which was to have confidence in your skill. Piloting or driving, it does not matter; you have the skill and the drive to survive. I knew you would be able to stop the car in time."

Duo scowled fiercely at the cup, wrapped a hand around its warm sides and downed a mouthful of the tea before turning to glare at Rashid, intending his glare to pierce the big man and shine through to Quatre.

"Any idiot can stop a car by slamming it into a wall he doesn't know is there!"

"This is wasting time and serving no purpose. We have much more important things to discuss."

Quatre sounded tired but Duo was tired himself and more than a little miffed and far from impressed. Another mouthful of tea. It was surprisingly good, at least it was well sweetened… and there was a biscuit on a plate beside the cup that had been tempting him… Yeah, that tasted okay too.

"Duo?"

"Shut up. I'm drinking my tea and you're disturbing me."

Behind Rashid's protective bulk Quatre blinked and, with a muffled moan, dropped his head into his hands. What was wrong with Duo for him to act like this? They needed to talk and they could not afford to drive around the streets of the city all night.

He needed to debrief Duo on what had occurred up on the mountain; find out if he had noticed anything 'odd' about Marquise… and what the reactions of the man had been to him. He really needed to know everything he could about the man who had been born to be a King and who was, officially, dead.

Duo might know something that could prove, or disprove, his assumptions and at the present time, given what he had already done, Quatre was not sure if he wanted to know if his hypothesis was accurate or not. It was worrying not knowing, but if it was true… that would not be worrying, it would be something to really fear.

And he had to explain about his activities since Duo had left New Port City. His friend was sure not to be amused by his actions, but he was sure he was right to take the actions he had. He simply could not allow anyone to use that type of power to control others… to distort events to suit their purpose at will.

He had to know if Marquise was stable and in possession of a conscience. If the man had values, moral values, that might hold him in check. There was so much he needed to know.

"Duo, we need to talk. About Marquise. There really isn't any time to waste."

"What about Zechs?"

Ah. He had peeked Duo's interest. That was good. Finally they could get down to business and stop wasting time.

"Look, Rashid, can you get your butt out of the way? It's not like he'll really take a swing at me."

Duo's eyes flashed deep indigo and he glared at the big man in the doorway. "Yes, Rashid, as if little old me would actually take a shot at the irresistible and all powerful… and always right… Quatre Winner."

Rashid looked anything but amused. "Your tea, if you please, Mr. Maxwell. There are more biscuits in the tin."

Deciding he was peckish Duo reached for the battered tin sitting in the middle of the table and after a moment settled back with a neat pile of biscuits set in front of him.

"We can't talk with Rashid acting as a wall between us, Duo. It's ridiculous."

It was ridiculous, he had to admit that, and at any other time it might have been funny, but he was not amused, not with the memory of that wall rushing up to meet him. It had been a trying few days, his nerves were raw, and coming back to this bad spy novel was not what he had been expecting.

"Good cookies, Rashid."

"Thank you, Master Duo."

Quatre scowled, hands settling on his hips as he glared at the huge bulk of the man. "We are not here for you to eat biscuits and ignore me!"

"Tea's not bad either." Duo grudgingly admitted.

"Stop ignoring me, Duo! I'm not going to go away and we don't have time for this crap!"

"Oooh, Quatre swore." Duo almost chuckled, nibbling his way around the edges of the home made treat in his fingers.

"We have a lot to discuss and the clock is ticking. Rashid, will you get out of the way!"

Duo set his cup, now empty, very deliberately to one side, polished off the final biscuit and turned in his seat, dusting his hands off on his thighs as he slipped from the chair, squared his shoulders and met Rashid's gaze.

"Finished my tea, Rashid, and I've eaten too. See, no shaking hands."

He held up his hands to demonstrate, painting a calm and oh so reasonable smile on his face. Somehow he was sure the big man was not fooled in the least.

"Rashid! Enough is enough. Move!"

Duo noted the flicker of irritation in the dark eyes and for a moment Rashid met his gaze, no doubt reading him like a book. The big man gave the impression of forced calm but after a moment Rashid moved, heaving his bulk up and forcing Quatre to move back so that he could exit the cramped space.

Quatre squeezed past to enter the room and grinned, satisfied. Now they could get down to business.

"Now, Duo we…Ugh!"

Duo's fist landed solidly, snapping Quatre's head to one side as he fell back into the waiting hands of Rashid, who deftly picked him up and set him back on his feet. Duo resisted the urge to shake his hand… that had hurt!... but it was well worth the bruised knuckles he would undoubtedly sport. But the damage to his knuckles would not be as impressive as the black eye Quatre would wear for a few days.

Dazed Quatre held a hand to his face, blood streaming from his nose. Duo had hit him?

Duo had hit him!

It was impossible, but the pain in his nose was beyond doubt and if Rashid was not supporting him he would be on the floor.

"You… You… hit me!"

"I'll just have another cup of tea, I think, Rashid."

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	7. Chapter 7

Hi there

A quick note for those of you waiting for the next Alternatives chapter, I have to apologise for the delay. I've sort of lost a note book I need, so I'm having to go over old chapters to glean some infomation I've lost... and I am still hoping to find the lost notes. That would make life so much easier. The chapter is coming, its just going to be late.

In the mean time, I hope you enjoy Friends and Enemies.

Take care and sorry.

Karina

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Information, Computer

Minor challenge response: Shadow, Virus

Word count: 2,743

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 7

Would her hands be cold or warm without the gloves? As if it made a difference. At least here the air was warm and he no longer froze in the back of the transit van.

Warmer as it was in the mobile operations unit he was far from comfortable.

He wanted to be out of here. The skin on his back was crawling with reaction to her every touch and the underlying expectation of… something. It was not quite the promise of violence, not quite that… at least not yet… but something permeated the air and set the ultra fine hairs at the nape of his neck rising. Something set the nerves just beneath the surface layer of skin tingling with expectation.

It was not an expectation of something good but something waiting to explode.

The chatter of the computers was a background noise he could not shut out. His senses were at peek, ensuring he noticed everything around him. Hyper aware, ultra sensitive to sound, movement, vibration… a measure of his mounting discomfort with his current situation.

She paid too much attention to the slashed wrist for his liking, but then he did not want to be where he was and any attention paid to him was too much in his view. He would not have minded her attention on the damage so much if the bastard had simply carved his name into his flesh, then at least he would have something to go on chasing the man down.

And it would be obvious he had not tried to kill himself.

It was a man, his would be murderer, he knew that. He could remember the bastard's voice, the malignancy in it. That one had wanted him dead, had craved for him to die in pain and ignominy and full awareness of his hate.

* "I want this to be slow, Peacecraft. I want you to suffer. It's snowing out there and the wind is rising. The cold might get you before you bleed out." *

The misguided bastard's own hate had given him the means to survive, slowing down the blood loss and giving the nanobots in his system time to seal the slashed blood vessels. He'd bled, but he had not bled out, as was intended.

* /If it should stop bleeding the cold will finish you. Just the one wrist and not too deep. You need to bleed slowly. I've waited too long for revenge to make this quick or easy. I want you to have time to think about why you are dying. I'd sit here and watch but I have places to go. People to see." *

He should be dead, despite the nanobots. Could even that miracle of modern science have kept a spark of life within his core had he remained on the mountain? They were clever things, nanobots, programmed to do specific tasks. There were millions of the microscopic computers within his blood and tissue working to maintain a certain degree of fitness and health… but against the cold, long term…

Well, he would not know if he would have survived or not, the point was mute. He had survived because a one time enemy had given him something he was quite uncomfortable with receiving.

No one had ever offered him mercy before.

Who with a background in OZ and the Alliance would expect mercy to come from a Gundam pilot?

That question too was redundant, unhelpful and meaningless to his present situation.

How far did he dare trust the people who surrounded him now? How far could he trust Marcus? He would trust Bradford about as far as he could throw him with one arm tied behind his back and the other tied to his ankle, which was to say not at all, but Marcus… Marcus might be different.

Marcus might well be on the 'disposable' list neither of them had witnessed but both firmly believed existed. There was no evidence of it but… Someone had wanted him dead and would not have been able to gain access to him if they had not had help from within the organization.

The unseen operations team surrounding this medical unit was on top of his 'not to be trusted' list. He was a paranoid bastard at the best of times and after recent events he could give an entire new meaning to the word. He was almost certain there were eight men on the team, not counting Marcus or Bradford, then there were at least three medics and technicians, seen and unseen on the vehicle, staffing the medical unit.

He might be able to rely on Marcus to help, but could the two of them together take down the rest? Certainly the medics and technicians they could, but the extraction team? Not cleanly certainly. It would have to be through stealth for the most part, working quietly and with deadly force. But was it, at this point in time, necessary? He still had no idea where they were or what was going down in the organization.

The technician was bent over his station's monitor, attention focused on the data streaming from the download from the nanobots reporting every nuance of his physical condition. There was no need to draw blood from him, the microscopic computers could provide instant data on his physiology in seconds, including a full blood work screening that would take hours to perform in a hospital.

Unfortunately they could also be reprogrammed to kill him instead of maintain his health.

It was hard to not flinch every time the man's hands hit the keyboard to enter information. Any one of those data entries might be the kill command. A certain measure of trust needed to be maintained between the medical staff, the nano technicians and the agent impregnated with the machines.

His wrist was healing well, but he knew that already. Maxwell made a fair field medic and kept an effective medical kit. Courtesy of the nanobots the wound might have been inflicted ten days ago instead of the few days it had actually been. Provided he survived long enough for the process to be completed there would not be so much as a scar to be seen in six months.

"Do I need to list you for a psyche evaluation?"

Ah, so there were rumours, were there? She did not immediately assume the wrist was self inflicted. What rumours might have been whispered around the organization during his absence? First Marcus had put in an appearance and now the medic did not jump to the obvious conclusion that he was just another field agent who had had enough and tried to top himself.

Unfortunately there were more than a few who had taken that road to escape.

This could be useful… there were those fingers tapping over the keyboard again… data request, not an input stream long enough to do harm to him. He had made it his business to have an intimate knowledge of the nanobot coding. He had learned early not to trust another when it might be to his detriment.

Ah, he could sing the joys of an agent's paranoia in seven different languages and in binary to boot. Of course, the coding was supposed to be known only to an elite few technicians, but any agent carrying the nanobots was an arrogant arse and a fool if he did not do something to cover his own backside if his handlers turned on him.

He had not worked with this medical team, but that was nothing new. He did have a regular team assigned to him when in the field and he at least had a modicum of trust in them. But there was nothing regular about this return from an assignment.

"No, but others might disagree. It was not self inflicted."

A quick note made on the clipboard just tilted enough for him not to be able to read what was written by the third attendant. He could guess well enough what would be contained in those notes, he was well aware of the physical damage he had sustained. The nanotech pushed away from his consol, stretching his shoulders as he watched a return stream of data complete into a diagnostics assessment Zechs was quick to scan through.

"The nano network is not compromised, though you have lost a few thousand units. I would advise an infusion of replacement units. Once activated and initialised it would effect a quicker return to an optimum condition. The series number for your units is on record as being stocked for this field unit, so I can apply the infusion immediately."

The man's dark eyes flicked to the medics in attendance as he made his way to a cabinet, pressing his thumb to the high tech lock and presenting his eye for a scan. Of the four people now in this medical bay only one of them could access that high security cabinet. Nano tech was jealously guarded by the organisation.

Did he want another influx of foreign nanobots into his system? Foreign, as in newly constructed and programmed with unknown data. Admittedly additional units could be helpful if he had to work fast and hard physically, which he would undoubtedly have to do at some point, but how well could he trust the integrity of the programming? There could be virus in just one of the bots and it would compromise the entire network, turning the microscopic machines into something he certainly did not want infusing him.

"Would you prefer blank slates? I can set them to pick up the programming from the master node as your system is not currently compromised by the lowered numbers of units. We don't have all day for me to do the programming, so if I set an assimilation program active the network should place the blanks to where your system is the most distressed by depleted numbers over the next seven days."

Now that had a greater potential. The new infusion would be programmed by his imbedded data and not by an outside source. He had entered safeguards over his personal node network being the paranoid bastard that he was, and no doubt every other field agent carrying the nanobots had set their own private controls in place.

His security program would scan all infused nano machines for conflicting programs and he could, once he got his hands on a computer system set up to enter data into the machines, set the network controller to flush any compromised nanobots from his system… if they could not be reprogrammed along the parameters he had set.

His wrist was dressed and the medic turned her attention to the other myriad of minor hurts the nanobots were well along the way to erasing. He was careful to keep the nanotech in sight and watch his every move. That, he judged, was his greatest danger, the insertion of the nano machines into his system. He was going to need to allow the tech to get up close and personal to perform the infusion, and it would take only one quick movement to take him down.

The injector was small, light and sharp. It resembled a miniature gun in the techs large hand, the load chamber pressed to the sealed unit, priming with a low hum to stimulate the nanobots and initiate the injection sequence. He was all too aware of the medic, the woman, pulling his hair back from his left ear and the cold wet swab swipe across his skin. He resisted the urge to shiver in reaction, but he had had it done a number of times before and so far nothing appeared… dangerous.

A glove was pulled over the techs left hand as the unit beeped, the needle point node glinted as the tech moved closer, into his personal space. He resisted the urge to catch the hand with the injector, to squeeze the wrist until the bones cracked. He was hyper aware, his shadow self on edge, looking for something to strike out at… and he was not finding it.

The tension was there, the team working with precision and competence, but with a tension rising from them that was setting his shadow awareness more and more into the danger zone with nothing specific to strike at. There it was again, that flicker of eyes toward the door as though they were expecting to be interrupted. His skin crawled the closer the injector came to his neck and the gloved fingers worked carefully over the area behind his ear, seeking the small hard node that marked the injection point, the nexus of the nano network.

The tech bent close, fingers isolated the node, massaged gently to stimulate the bio system, relaxing the muscles that shielded the node itself.

"Word came down you were dead." the techs breath was warm against his neck, his whisper barely audible. "Next generation blanks, activation code 'phoenix 562903'. Self replicating units. Hermes suggests you run. Olympus will fall."

Jesus.

What the fuck was going on in the organization?

The injection node nestled against the nexus node, a moment to hear the beep from the injector signalling the alignment was accurate and the compressed air fired the package into the nexus. He held against the flinch reaction caused more from the sound of the injector so close to his ear than the small pain as it pierced his skin. Flinching could mean a miss and that was not something he really wanted now.

There were booted feet beyond the tent flap and the tech pocketed the injector, moving to resume his seat. He glanced up as the woman pressed a strip of plastic to his forehead and Bradford shouldered past Marcus, thrusting the dark plastic flap separating the medical bay from the operations unit contained in the remainder of the trailer.

"Cut the crap, Bradford, or I'll give you something to be in a shit about."

Well, there was certainly no love between Bradford and Marcus, that was for certain. He could see the clash of aura's between the two, which had been held rigidly under control at the airport for the transfer. Now it was raw and obvious away from the Preventer agents. Marcus had been lounging at the entry to the medical bay out of his direct sight, no doubt watching and listening to the smallest of happenings around him.

Even, perfect teeth were bared into a semblance of a smile, a not very nice smile, Zechs noted, half expecting the Celt and Bradford to tangle but it did not happen. Bradford chose to ignore the offer of a confrontation and glowered instead at the medical team.

/You'd like to try us though./ Zechs had no illusions about what the man would like to do.

Bradford would have liked to test himself against a top class field agent. He must have had specific instructions against playing with them, Zechs mused, noting the tension around the thin mouth and the throbbing of a vein at his temple.

"How long?" The Commander tossed what Zechs took to be a set of neatly folded combat fatigues onto a cabinet top, glaring around the room.

"Almost done, Commander. Ten minutes."

She did not look at the man, Zechs noted, watching in the reflection of a cupboard across from him, but kept her attention on the plastic strip.

"Air evac in fifteen minutes."

No one bothered to respond and to his relief Bradford stormed out of the unit. Marcus took the opportunity to enter, ignoring the glares from the medics to make his way to the neatly folded clothing Bradford had brought. As Zechs watched he ran a hand scanner over every seam, button and zip, after a few minutes pawing through the medical equipment to filch a pair of tweezers and a scalpel.

The nano tech watched with a faint scowl before turning back to his consol, ignoring proceedings as Marcus worked the wire carefully out of the hem of the black sleeveless polo necked top and calmly chopped the wire into a dozen glistening pieces before running the scanner over the clothing once again, repeating the action with the device secreted in the collar of the combat jacket.

"There we go, my friend, all freshly laundered for you." Marcus smirked, crossing the room to drop the combat trousers, jacket and sleeveless top across Zechs's legs. "Just wait outside, will I?"

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	8. Chapter 8

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Respect, Organisation, Respect

Minor challenge response: Crisis, Anger, Argue, Faith

Word count: 2,558

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for betaing this chapter and a special thanks to ShenLong Deb for a quick check over additional changes. Love you ladies.

Character Challenge: Duo, Quatre and Zechs

Chapter 8

No doubt about it, coffee was his preferred drink but he supposed tea wasn't too bad either. It had a settling effect on his stomach at least, and given his guts had felt like it was tied in a complex knot - that was a bonus.

Duo kept his right hand below the level of the table, using its cover to hide from Quatre the way he clenched and unclenched his fingers. That punch had hurt like hell but there was no way he would make it obvious to Quatre, who was pressing an oversized icepack over his eye and nose and glaring at him. Winner looked decidedly unimpressed, in fact he looked down right pissed, but Duo was not in the least bit repentant.

Rashid stood in the doorway, his broad back to them, keeping guard and giving them at least some level of privacy. Duo braced his feet as the semi-trailer negotiated what had to be a fairly tight corner, his visible hand holding the tea cup above the level of the table, dropping his elbow to stop the saucer from sliding as the trailer tilted with the tightness of the turn.

—000-

Quatre held the saucer steady with his free hand until their ride straightened out of the turn before taking up the cup and sipping the steaming contents. Rashid had insisted he drink tea. Why? He had no idea, but he was not concerned with the beverage at present. He preferred Turkish coffee but given their current location that was certainly not available and it was only an excuse to keep his hand occupied anyway.

He was surprised Duo had not broken his nose with that right hook and he was absolutely astounded a punch had actually been thrown at him. Duo had hit him! It was unbelievable, but it had happened and they now sat in stony silence. Rashid had been hovering over them, no doubt to keep the peace, while the tea had brewed. Maybe that was why the big man insisted on tea, the longer preparation time was the perfect medium to give them both time to cool down.

Really it was getting ridiculous.

Why had they started fighting in the first place? They could not afford to fight amongst themselves and why should Duo, of all people, be insulted that his friend had faith in his abilities? It made no sense.

He could tell his friend was tense and on edge and that was hardly surprising given what the man had been doing over the last few days. It had to be just the accumulation of tension and a big stress factor from being trapped up on the mountain by the blizzard.

/I suppose the surprise of finding himself here was a bit much./ Duo had obviously been stressed out and had needed a release. /He didn't have to hit me so hard though./

It really was a surprise that he had not broken his nose and he could feel his eye swelling despite the icepack, but he could not afford to hold on to his own anger at being solidly punched in the face. Much as he would have liked to return the swing there were other, more important matters to be seen to.

His nose might not be broken and he could feel his eye swelling despite the icepack, but he could not afford to hold on to his own anger at being solidly punched in the face. Much as he would have liked to return the swing, there were other more important matters to be seen to.

"I have always had a great deal of respect for you and for your abilities, Duo. I had no doubt that you would be able to handle the car and I was proven right. I know you have had a stressful few days; we all have. You are not the only one under pressure. We need to get over this and move on to more important matters. We have some sensitive discussions ahead of us and we can't afford to be sniping at each other. I've… taken a few liberties," he waved a hand to indicate their location, "to give us the chance to talk in private. It is best that no one we can not implicitly trust knows what we are going to talk about and we need to make some plans before things get out of hand."

There, he had extended the olive branch as a peace offering. An apology, though he was not too sure he was the one who needed to apologise. He was not the one who had thrown the punch after all. He could only hope Duo would take the offering and get over his mood so they could progress.

He did not like being at odds with his friends and he was worrying about Trowa. His lover would most certainly not be happy with his actions, but it should be a little early for Trowa to know he was missing… at least he hoped Trowa did not know. It was possible that Une might have informed his lover of their confrontation and, if so, then Trowa would be far from happy.

His lover would have a great deal to say on his strange behaviour, but he felt he had taken the best course of action given his suspicions. He would explain his reasoning as soon as he was able, which would not be exactly soon, he admitted. He could do with his lover's comfort but he was more than capable of acting on his own recognisance. Until he was certain of what he was dealing with, until he had confirmation of what he suspected, it was best to keep his lover from becoming involved.

It was best that only he and Duo were involved.

How much would Une reveal if she chose to involve Trowa? How much would she dare to reveal of the suspect organisation and the involvement of Preventer? Une knew how precarious all of their positions were in the current political climate. She was no more trusted than the Gundam pilots. It was ridiculous how they were being treated in the aftermath, especially after all these years, but facts were facts and they were hardly free to go about their business without watchers dogging their every step.

This was a crisis, though he doubted anyone other than he and Lady Une recognised it as such at the present time. If his supposition was correct, and he was sure it was… he was not accustomed to making stupid mistakes… there was an organisation out there, somewhere, armed with an unusual and decidedly dangerous potential. Whoever directed that resource had the potential to affect every decision of importance made within the ESUN and their direct influence on political matters, and could be undetectable.

Someone out there had the potential to be able to use the politicians of the world as their playthings and might have the inclination to shape the ESUN to the image they desired. But it was not just the politicians they might influence. Anyone from a street urchin to the most influential business CEO in the ESUN could fall prey to the machinations of what amounted to a puppet master. How easy it would be for people to unknowingly be used as tools… nothing more than toys to be played with. Puppets.

The implications had the potential to be disastrous for the peace they had fought so hard to attain. It was beyond frightening and Duo Maxwell, he was sure, held the key to the mystery. Or rather, he might hold a key. The first key to what was sure to be only the first lock that would unlock successive doors to a conspiracy that could shake the ESUN.

"Master Quatre?"

Turning in his chair he saw Rashid had turned in the doorway to face the small room where he and Duo stared in silence at each other, and was now holding a portable DVD player.

"Is that the recording from the terminal?"

"Yes, Master Quatre. A clean up team moved in to clear the site as soon as the area was clear. Our agents eluded discovery and forwarded this recording as soon as they could. I am informed the cleaners were not a Preventer crew."

He could not say he was surprised it was not Preventers who cleaned the terminal of all trace of the meeting that had taken place there. He could just be thankful his own people had not been detected in the area, let alone the discovery of them revealing a recording of the arrival of the helicopter. The success of his team gave him hope this suspect organisation did not boast a great many agents with 'special' skills.

"Do you have another copy of the recording?" At Rashid's affirmative Quatre smiled, and it was rather a grim smile. "Good. Try to identify as many of the people caught on camera as you can. Get as much information on them as you can safely glean without giving away the search. We need to be unsuspected of involvement for as long as possible. Leave that copy here and Duo and I will watch it in a few minutes."

He had succeeded in catching Duo's attention and that was good. He waited while Rashid placed the machine on the table and then withdrew, giving them some privacy by closing the rather thin and pathetic door. That Rashid had left them unobserved gave him hope that he had judged the danger of them coming to blows had passed. Quatre took a moment to sip his tea, gathering his thoughts, and trying to think of the best approach to use with an obviously temperamental Duo Maxwell.

He needed to explain as much as he could to Duo about why he was acting in the manner of what must seem like rather a bad spy movie. That was not exactly going to be easy. He had a lot of supposition, a lot of worry, and a lot of what many people would call fantasy to try to explain… and no conclusive evidence to back him. He had taken a lot of small incidents and fitted them together to give him a suggestive but very fragmented puzzle and he needed to fill in the gaps to make a better chance of viewing the larger picture.

He needed to confirm as many of his suspicions as possible, as quickly as possible, and if Duo could not offer him anything he could use, if he could not prove at least a small part of what he suspected was happening, then… Had he made a terrible mistake? Had he acted too quickly and endangered the lives and the livelihoods of people who depended on him?

He needed to know as quickly as possible if Duo, who was always an astute judge of character and had the knack to notice the smallest details, had noticed anything… peculiar… about Marquise.

"So what's going down, Quatre? Is that a record of what happened when Zechs and the others arrived at the terminal?"

At least Duo was talking to him and sounding considerably less belligerent than he had been. Progress. Quatre resisted the urge to sigh in relief, but it was a promising start after the disaster of earlier and he could feel the easing of tension in the other man. His space heart, his empathy, was hardly the most reliable on occasion and it had certainly let him down earlier, other wise he would not have a smarting, swelling eye and aching nose.

Sometimes he could read nothing of an individual's emotions, sometimes he could read only the barest flicker and at other times he might have been half the country away from an individual and could read them as though he was touching them.

Empathy, as Quatre lived it, was rather finicky. At the moment it informed him that Duo was still antsy, still on edge, but the temper had a less spicy flavour now the edge had been taken off.

Duo had never been one to hold on to anger for an unreasonable duration. To Quatre he was like magnesium, his temper burning fiercely and brilliantly, but quickly. It had always seemed as though Duo enjoyed life too much to hold on to anger for long. It took a great deal to make the young man hold on to that bright burning flame. Tick Duo off enough and he could develop a pet hate and that hate would feed a perpetual anger that would be rarely glimpsed day to day, but one day it would erupt into violent action.

Duo Maxwell was a curious creature and Quatre wondered if he would ever really know all of the little quirks that made up the man he called his friend.

"I'll explain, and yes, this would be the recording of what took place at the terminal. I had a team hidden in the vicinity, but we can watch this shortly. First… I need to know… Duo, did you notice anything… different… about Marquise?"

There was something in those blue eyes that could so abruptly swing toward dangerous violet that worried him. Duo straightened in his seat and seemed to consider him for a long moment with his eyes burning intensely blue. No danger of violence signalled by the violet shimmer at the moment, those eyes were still very blue and that was a sign of safety from that dark alter ego Duo referred to as Shinigami. No danger yet, but Duo was clearly wary.

"How do you mean, 'different'?"

Well that was a fair enough question, but how did he answer it? How did he exactly phrase what he wanted to know about a man neither of them really knew? Duo was observant, there was no denying that, but if he did not know what he was looking for would he recognise something of importance? Unless Marquise openly did something out of the ordinary that raised the hackles on the back of his neck, how would Duo know what sort of thing he wanted to hear? It was awkward to say the least, but Duo knew about his empathy and he would be more likely to notice anything of a similar nature than most others.

And Duo had that 'feeling' occasionally which led him to act where others would not. It was why he had gone up the mountain in the teeth of a rising blizzard, but how did you begin to talk about that without risking offending the man?

"Well… Did you notice anything… he might have… done that was… unusual?" Allah, that was pathetic. He had to do better than that.

Blue eyes narrowed. "Unusual?"

Teeth grated. He had never been good at talking about his 'space heart' to others. He was an empath and the other pilots knew it, but they never spoke about it to each other. None of them, himself included, ever brought up the subject in open discussion. It was just… accepted… that he knew… 'things' about people.

"Well… anything… strange? Odd? Did you notice anything out of the ordinary about him?"

Duo blinked, staring at Quatre as though he had grown a second head.

"Did I notice anything strange…? It's Zechs Marquise, Quatre, what the fuck is 'ordinary' about that guy?"

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	9. Chapter 9

Hi there

An early post as my Christmas present to you as I thought I'd never get anything ready with the week I've had. I was hoping to get an Alternatives chapter up but if I'm lucky that will come along about the time of the New Year [cross fingers].

Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas and you keep safe and well through the holiday.

Take care

Karina

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Veteran, Expectations, Time

Minor challenge response: Warriors, Rescue

Word count: 3,249

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for betaing this chapter and to Deb for some quick feedback and Dragon Dagger who expressed an interest [grin]. Love you people.

Character Challenge: Quatre, Duo and Zechs

Chapter 9

Well, yes, he supposed he had to allow that Duo had a point. Just what about Zechs Marquise could be called 'ordinary'? The man was an enigma, pretty much a law unto himself. He should have died at least twice, possibly more than twice if he cared to look into the past of the man, which he certainly did not want to do… but he would have to, he decided, in order to answer some of his more demanding questions.

Marquise had an uncanny knack for survival.

Might that well developed survival ability be due to the existence, and exercise of, a psychic talent?

Ah, he had thought it. He had finally thought 'the' word he usually danced around when it came to Marquise; and even to his own ability. Psychic. It was a word that usually evoked a scoffing response from the scientifically learned community, who insisted if something could not be measured, monitored and dissected… it did not exist. The sceptics always had a ready and extremely mundane explanation for phenomenon that occurred, no matter how outlandish, how 'odd' that explanation might be.

It was only the 'few', people who, like himself, possessed a higher usable talent who did not immediately jump all over the word and point fingers and laugh.

He was empathic. He was sensitive to the emotions of all living animals around him. Animals… as in the human animal and other animal species. There was not so much difference between the human species and all other animal life on the planet, not really. He had learned with time and experience that in many ways it was the animals he preferred to be around. Their emotions were not so complex, not so easily and quick to change like quicksilver.

His ability did not work all of the time. He was far from infallible. Some days he was what he had once called 'normal', just like everyone else around him-dead to the deeper emotions of all surrounding him. At other times he could howl and scream with the overload of emotions that did not belong to him, always forcibly encroaching on him, demanding his attention, filling him with other people's desires, hate, joy, jealousy, love, lust, greed… Some days he could burst with the awareness and wish himself suspended in space, thousands of kilometres from the furthest colony, where there was no one and nothing that could encroach on him.

Where he could simply be himself in his own head

But he could not afford to be distracted now. This was not about him and when the input got to be too much for him to take. This was about someone else who might, if they were not like him, at least possess something, some ability, that could be fitted into that very large and misunderstood category loosely termed 'psychic'.

Duo was in there with them, Quatre had no doubt of it. He could feel it, he had felt the drive that made him act even when Duo did not understand why he acted-or what he was reacting to. That 'feeling', the need that drove him… but Zechs was not like Duo either. At least, he did not think Zechs' extrasensory ability would be the same as how Duo's talent presented.

Zechs surely would not have found himself caught up in the situation which placed him on that mountain if he had the same or a similar ability. Unless the man was too confident in his own ability to handle whatever came his way…? No. The man was too cautious, too aware of the dangers that placed a permanent target on his back. The Terror of Earth was no fool and would never ignore an itch that warned of trouble; he was too much a Gundam pilot to make so fundamental a mistake.

No, it was, it had to be, something else. Something infinitely more dangerous if what he suspected was true. What he could expect from Marquise would be extraordinary; not that any of what Quatre knew of psychic ability was what he could loosely term 'normal'. Marquise just did not know how to do ordinary, rather like Duo in that regard. Well, honestly, what Gundam pilot knew how to be ordinary?

Trowa, Yuy and Chang were all trying their hand at it. They were trying to be just like everyone else, normal people with normal jobs… okay, so not quite normal jobs, but the closest thing to it they could manage… and he was no better. He was trying to be a business man, a mogul of such power and influence that it could rock the ESUN if he got this wrong, but the truth was there was nothing ordinary about who he was or what he was.

Winners did not do ordinary any more than Peacecrafts did.

What did the world expect from them? What was it the world expected them to do, to be? How could any of them possibly live up to expectations if they did not know what 'ordinary' was? They were what they were: Gundam pilots. Teenagers trained to be exceptional in every way, good and bad. That was the truth, it was how things were, and the world needed to understand that. If those men and women in positions of prominence made the decision that he and his friends could not change and become just like the man across the street… What then?

None of them could be anything less than what they were trained to be. Eventually that decision, that damning designation, would be made.

Life was no less dangerous for them now than it had been during the war.

Marquise, Peacecraft, whatever he wanted to call himself, was tied by the same strings that bound them. Perhaps even more so than they, as he was the one who had threatened to decimate the planet and then had had the poor grace to emerge from the conflict alive. Alive and re-emerging to save the arses of the then incumbent politicians about to be deposed by Barton's bid for dominance.

The identity of the pilot of the Tallgeese III had not been revealed to the world at large, nor had the identity of the pilot of the white Taurus been announced. He knew those in charge of the government knew after the fact it had been Marquise and Noin who had held Barton until the Gundam Pilots had arrived on the scene, and it had been Dorothy Catalonia who had stirred the people to stand up for themselves. Both Dorothy and Marquise had been commonly viewed as White Fang and, therefore, it had been 'The Enemy' who had saved them from Barton's little revolution.

How embarrassing was that? It was no wonder Marquise had chosen to make himself scarce.

Leaving for Mars had been a smart move; it separated Marquise from those who might well have panicked after their safety was assured at the thought of the man running loose on Earth. They might have taken action on their own… for the greater good of course. The man might well have found an assassin's bullet with his name engraved on it and was it possible this latest episode might be a hold over from that past time? Whether it was or not, and Quatre thought not, Marquise still was a hot commodity.

After so many years what had really changed in the ESUN?

It seemed more and more they were walking in circles. They were condemned to repeating cycles already repeated a thousand times in history. Would mankind ever grow up? The expectations of change taking place after the war had proven to be a disappointment to him, but perhaps he should not be so hard on the world? Changes had been made, he could not deny that, but he could never forget that old fears died hard.

The people who had trained as warriors throughout history had long been segregated in the aftermath of conflict. War changed people and places and soldiers who expected to return to their homes and all to return to normal had not always settled well to the changes that had taken place in the aftermath.

Many soldiers who had survived the conflicts had succumbed to the shadows, displaced, dispossessed, losing themselves in despair and falling into ruin. Tragically not everyone received help to adjust.

After 'that' war… it seemed everyone on Earth and in the colonies had been affected. Seeing how close the Earth had come to being decimated… well, everyone saw it. Everyone understood how close they had come. It was inevitable people would lose themselves realising how fragile their lives really were. How fragile the whole planet was.

Marquise and Khushrenada had succeeded in throwing a scare into everyone and it would take time for that fright, and the anger that came with it, to work its way out of the politics of their civilisation. It had been what Khushrenada had intended, after all.

Eventually stability would be assured.

/It hasn't been a full decade yet. It takes time. We are watched because they fear we will take action when all we want to do is settle to our lives and be given half a chance of conforming to this world's future. By marking us; by forcing us to conform as they determine we should, they are making it harder for us to adjust. Duo is the only honest one amongst us. He has not, will not, allow them to force him to be what he is not./

"Yo! Kitty Kat? You in there? You've gone all spacey on me."

Startled, Quatre shook himself from his revere and blushed, offering up a sheepish smile in apology. "Sorry."

Duo snorted softly, eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his friend. "So what planet were you orbiting?"

He had to smile, just a little bit, at his friend. Duo had such a way about him and it appeared his moment lost in thought had seen the transition point between Duo being miffed at him and Duo having forgiven him.

"I was thinking. Sorry. Lost in times past, I'm afraid. Not good times either, though in some regards they were the best of times. They let me meet you, after all."

"Eh?"

"Just a stroll down memory lane, Duo. Forgive me, that was not why I went to such trouble to talk to you where we could not be overheard. You are quite right, Zechs Marquise is anything but normal."

Blue eyes narrowed but Duo seemed to decide not to argue the point and settled a little more comfortably in his seat as the trailer shuddered and rocked. Quatre knew Duo now wanted an explanation for the weirdness he had fallen into when he must have wanted nothing more than a decent meal and to fall into a warm bed for a few hours. Quatre would see he got that, in just a little while, but first they had to talk.

"You know about my empathy, right? About what we call the Space Heart."

"Yeah, I do. But it's not like you to talk about it."

Warning bells would probably be ringing for Duo and Quatre inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of that observation. "I know… but I think it's as good a place to start this conversation as anywhere. I am a psychic and so are you, Duo Maxwell."

Blue eyes, not a hint yet of violet, widened. "Say what already?"

Not quite the reaction he had expected, but that was nothing unusual when you were dealing with Duo. He was not what one would generally expect a survivor of the L2 streets to be, but he had had a few bouts of luck that separated him from the norm. Luck, Quatre mused, or was it, as he suspected, more than mere luck?

That 'go here' instinct might account for the changes in Duo's fortunes.

"You, Duo Maxwell, are a psychic. Some kind of a precog, I think."

"Precogwhatsits?"

He really was taking this better than Quatre had expected and that, given the company he had been keeping of late, might be an indication of events having taken place on the mountain.

"Precognition. It can take the form of dreams of events which later happen or it might be more vague, feelings, an 'itch' to do something or go somewhere." He loaded the later part of his sentence with a little emphasis, trying to get Duo to make a connection, if he had not already.

"Vague?"

"Yes. Vague. Something that might be like… uneasy feelings, a sudden certainty that you have to do something or go somewhere, or NOT do something."

He wanted, needed, Duo to pick up on past instances when he had acted for no apparent reason and had, as a result, survived. He needed to be suggestive but not overdo the leads. Duo was bright, he had a very high IQ and was not shy of using it. He had to have faith in his friend.

"Rather a handy ability to have if you are a Gundam Pilot."

"Shit, Quatre, if I could know in advance what was going to happen do you think I would have gone through half the shit I went through during the war?"

Well, yes, there was that, but he was not wrong. If Duo had the kind of extra sensory perception that revealed to him the secrets of future event then yes, Duo would have avoided a great many nasty situations. Precognition came in a variety of forms and strengths and he already was pretty sure Duo's ability was not of the 'dream' and know 'it' has to be avoided or changed sort.

"My space heart does not work all of the time. Why should we expect your precognition to work all the time?" That was a bit of an oversimplification, but sometimes it was best to keep things simple. They could talk in greater detail once Duo accepted he had this ability and Quatre was not a fool, he was not exactly expecting Duo would accept it any time soon. It had taken him years after all.

"You been drinking something besides tea, Quatre?"

"I don't 'drink' and you know it. I am quite serious, Duo. You have a precognitive ability. What was it that drove you to go up the mountain?"

"I… erm."

Quatre grinned, triumphant, knowing Duo could not find an excuse that would hold water. He could undoubtedly come up with a whole swathe of reasons, but none of them would be true and meeting those blue eyes now… he knew Duo knew he understood.

"It was the message. The anonymous message we received. The one that said Zechs was snatched. You forgot about that, did you?"

A good try, but… "Why did you act when no one else did? Why did you force the issue with the others? It was only reasonable to check before acting, as they wished to do, but you would not wait."

"With that weather front closing in? He's have died if I had delayed to check."

"True, but you might have been locked in up there, on your own for days, unable to come back down the mountain until the weather cleared. If he had been found to be at home, safe and sound, you would have gone for no reason."

"I didn't think you were one for 'what if's'."

Duo scratched his head, trying to cover the minute tremble in his hands at the very thought of Zechs being up on the mountain alone in that blizzard. Freezing the life out of him, leaving him to be found later, when it was too late. He was shaking? Why? In reaction to the thought of the man dying… of ignoring that… that 'itch' that he had learned to listen to? He had known. He had known without a doubt it would have been too late if he had not acted when he had, as he had. He had known Marquise was up there, as soon as he had set eyes on the warning.

As it was he had almost been too late. Almost.

"I'm not. The point is this is not a 'what if', Duo. You acted, decisively and quickly. Why? You acted because you knew it would be too late if you did not act 'then' and you knew, deep inside, that he was up there. You knew if you did what the others said that it would be too late to make a difference. That is your ability, Duo, that 'knowing' when you have to act. You live close to the edge; you have a fantastic survival instinct and you 'know' when you need to do something. If it is strange to others, even to yourself, you still do it. Even if it seems suicidal or just plain odd, it makes no difference, because you KNOW. You have learned to listen to that instinct. It's why you are still alive today."

"You must be on something, Quatre."

"I do not do drugs unless its caffeine based liquid, black as the ace of spades with a consistency that emulates hot tar and strong enough to curl your hair." Quatre grinned. "I am an empath. I can tell you that Rashid is irritated because Auda is playing the fool instead of concentrating on what he is supposed to do… the driver has an itchy leg and is annoyed because he can't scratch it at the moment… Sahid is hungry and wishing he had thought to slip a chocolate bar in his pocket and you… Well, you are irritated, uneasy, afraid, still with an underlying thunder of anger… and you know, deep inside, that I am right. The conviction is there, I can feel it. You just don't want to acknowledge it yet."

"I'm not psychic."

"Of course you are… and I think, after reading your emotions for so long since you joined me, that the fear I am feeling in you is based in something you saw up on the mountain. Something you… don't understand but… What did you see? What happened up there, Duo?"

He could feel a stir in Duo, his emotions picking up, clarifying as his particular talent sharpened to a rare fine perception. Quatre's eyes widened and he resisted the urge to put his hands to his temple in a vain attempt to block out the input that was not his own emotional response.

"You feel that I am trying… trying to make you betray…Betray… him? He asked you for something? No, not for some 'thing' but… to do something for him, didn't he?" The more he spoke the more he felt Duo tighten up against the intrusion, but it was Duo's intensity that was forcing his perception, not his desire to read his friend. "You saw something up there, on that mountain, while you were with Zechs. He 'is' a psychic! I was right, wasn't I? What was it, Duo? What did you see… or sense about him?"

Something snapped, like a rubber band stretched too tightly. It was a moment of pained awareness, a sharp rebound of emotion in Duo and Quatre almost flinched as he shared it. There was a hint of violet in Duo's eyes that Quatre really did not want to see.

"What did I 'see'? What did he want me to do? He wanted me to stay the fuck out of what is happening, that's what he wanted me to do!"

End

Karina Robertson 2010


	10. Chapter 10

Hi there

My sincere apologies for the chapter being so very late and yes, Alternatives will be late as well. Again sorry, but real life is biting and while late the chapters will be coming.

Any mistakes in this chapter are solely my idiocy in deciding to tinker with the chapter a bit before I posted it up. Hope you enjoy.

Karina

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Information, Organisation, Determination, Curiosity

Minor challenge response: Shadows, Contest

Word count: 2,627

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie and ShenLong Deb for betaing this fic and to Dragon Dagger for allowing herself to be used as something of a sounding board to keep me on the right path. Thank you ladies.

Character Challenge: Heero, Trowa and Une

Chapter 10

Heero glared into the darkness of the night, his attention focused on the lights of the small convoy made up of the nondescript van and two dark coloured, possibly green, sedans. All were generic models with nothing distinctive that might possibly mark them from a similar vehicle; and not one of the three vehicles had registration plates or stickers on the windscreen. The van had tucked into the centre position before it had left the terminal precinct and the tail lights of the three vehicles were lost in the darkness of the night too quickly.

For the lights to have been lost so abruptly they had to have shut off the lights once they drove clear of the perimeter of the airfield and, unless Une had a scout out there in the darkness, it would be hard to determine the direction the small convoy took. It was a potential problem, but one that was certainly not insurmountable.

He would just need to be mildly inventive to track them. A satellite link would assist in revealing them, all he needed to do was find a satellite that passed overhead at the right time and hack into it.

First he needed to make up his mind about what it was he intended to do, both immediately after returning to base and in his future. Relena and the future he might have with her or… ? Or indeed. He had spent years trying to fit in with the world around him, doing his utmost to become 'ordinary' and could he, in all honesty, say he had felt 'ordinary' during this time? What was ordinary anyway? He had spent years trying to act something he still did not understand.

Had he ever felt like 'one of the boys'?

One of the Gundam Boys, yes. He felt comfortable enough in their company, but with others, even Preventer agents assigned to Relena's security detail, did he ever feel like he was accounted as one of 'them'? He knew he would never be like the kid who lived down the road, not even like that mythological 'kid' made good as an adult. He certainly was not a kid now, not a teenager at all. He was a young man who was, despite the years since the war, still listed as dangerous and to be approached with caution.

Did they think he was an idiot, a trusting fool to not check their supposedly confidential files? Of course he checked. Their security was pathetic, worse than the Preventers database that he browsed every other day. When you lived on the edge of tolerance information was the primary key to staying alive and he made it his business to know what was happening around him.

He wanted to live. He wanted a life beyond being someone's attack dog. He wanted… something. He wasn't even sure what it was, just that he wanted it.

He looked into confidential files and he caught, amongst other things, whispers; rumours of clandestine operations. Not once had he guessed that Marquise was a part of the whispered existence, but never confirmed, Black Ops organisation. Preventer had a Special Operations Unit, sometimes he took part in their operations, and Chang and Barton were a core part of the unit. But this other group, they were little more than a whisper in intelligence circles. It made sense, the man was downright dangerous and knowing what he did now, that Marquise had been modified in a similar fashion to his own physical alternations… Yes, it made sense, but he still would not have expected it.

The man was Relena's brother. If the Prince of Sanc was active with a Black Ops group the repercussions of discovery would tremble the world as they knew it. Accusations could be made against the world government and Sanc would be in the thick of it. He was the Prince of Sanc after all, even though Relena still insisted on believing in a one nation world. Bloodlines mattered in this day and age no less than in the past. Reality said it was never going to be as simple as claiming something did not exist.

Marquise had, on his return from Mars or some time prior to it, made a decision; stepping back from his relationship with Lucrezia Noin, Preventers and Relena in the process. Why? Heero had little doubt it was the man attempting to protect them, though the ladies would not appreciate that protection or understand it. Noin was a professional herself and certainly would not appreciate the act, she did not like to be considered weak, and Relena simply would not understand, but Heero did.

In good conscience could he step back from the normal life he had hoped for, step away from and give up on getting closer to Relena in a totally unprofessional and intensely personal manner? Could he do that now he had come so far?

Did he want to do it?

Was it even his place to consider stepping over the clearly drawn line on his right hand side and immerse himself in Marquise's mess? Or should he stop hesitating and take that step that would place him over the line on his left hand side and put him squarely into the 'normal' and 'every day category' of life? The life he was less than comfortable with and yet yearned for.

If he did so, if he made the call and chose to interfere with whatever Marquise was involved in, then he could not turn back. He had to know and understand his own personal reasons before he took the fateful step.

To protect the peace? That was an easy excuse, far too easy. To protect Relena's interests? That too was an easy excuse for him to use and he could do better.

Was it just because he could not leave it alone?

That… had an uncomfortable ring of truth about it.

—-

Trowa scanned the darkness, seeking some sign of the little cavalcade driving away from the terminal and he had to applaud their caution. Such a simple act as turning off the lights of the vehicles could slow down any possible pursuit. They had made it hard, harder certainly, but not impossible to track their course. Professionals, as one would expect of a Black Ops group.

He made a mental note of the time he lost track of the lights, it would aid in tracking down the agents when he had the time and opportunity. It was not, technically, his business, and he really wanted nothing to do with the matter, but other people would make it his business. Because he knew that somewhere along the line he would be dragged into the mess and he intended to get some idea of what was going down, whether Une wanted Preventers to be involved or not.

She would not, of course. Une had a reputation for moments of insanity, but she was hardly insane and she intended Preventers to stand as Khushrenada's monument. She would do anything to preserve the peace he had died for and getting the organisation involved in Marquise's madness would not be on her agenda.

It would not be Une who meddled and, much as he might like to entertain the notion of not interfering, he could not ignore the simple fact that Maxwell had become involved. Duo Maxwell had actually been interested in Marquise and Maxwell had never been able to keep his nose out of anything that could remotely be considered a curiosity.

Trowa was curious, yes, he admitted that. He would like to know more about the group Marquise worked for, but not at the cost of the life he had put such painstaking effort into crafting. There would always be intelligence groups working against each other; it was what made the world go around, the constant give and take, the push and pull, the sneaking behind the scenes. Information was the key to success in their civilisation and sometimes one had to get down and dirty to gain information.

It was not the existence of this group that would get him involved in Marquise's business but Maxwell and his infernal curiosity. Whatever had happened up on that mountain between Maxwell and Marquise before his group had arrived, had made an impression on Duo. He knew the man well enough to know the braided menace would not be able to leave well enough alone and, purely because Maxwell was involved, Quatre would get involved when he found out Maxwell was up to mischief.

His blonde lover had his own brand of curiosity and would not be able to keep his shapely little nose out of the mess. It was just how Quatre was. If there was the slightest chance of Duo getting involved, or any of their select group of friends for that matter, then Quatre would involve himself. While Trowa loved the man there were some days he could simply walk away, pulling his hair out by the roots and screaming his frustration.

And mischief? Ugh, what was he thinking? He could not really call what Maxwell excelled at 'mischief', not when this instance had the potential to bring about fatalities and a potentially viable threat to the peace. Anything that involved Marquise could not be straight forward and simple, that had to be some fundamental law of the universe.

The man had layers of deception, deceit and camouflage that obscured the truth of whatever he turned his hand to.

It was inevitable that Quatre, given the slightest whiff of this mess, would become fascinated and be determined to unravel the mystery.

Despite all advice to the contrary, if Maxwell delayed long enough to ask for advice, Duo would get involved. It seemed inevitable given his curious nature and somewhat unusual sense of ethics, and that meant Quatre would feel the need to step in. The resulting avalanche would be unstoppable. When Quatre became involved another keystone on the mountain slope would be dislodged and Trowa, likely the others too, would be swept into the scree cascading down the mountain slope of consequence.

He would find himself with no choice but to take action, first in an attempt to head off the pair and inevitably to help rescue them when they jumped fearlessly into the fire.

Honestly, was Marquise worth it? And Bradford. Now that arsehole might be worth the trouble to put himself in the way of a good rumble. There was a nasty piece of work if ever he saw one, and if there were others like him… Well. Maybe it might be worth a look.

He was spoiling for a good fight.

Ah, a bit of honesty. He could not lay all of the blame if he chanced to became involved at Duo's feet. The fact was he was already curious, mildly so, but curious none-the-less, spoke volumes. And from the intense expression on Yuy's face he was not the only one who would not say 'no' to the chance to test the skills they had rarely had occasion to use since the war.

Preventers had people to do much of the work they had needed to perform in the past. They were given the missions with most of the details intact and accurate, and there was little need to meddle with carefully thought out mission parameters. Going after this group would be like going back in time to a period when they were largely on their own.

Besides, he was sure he was not the only one who would want to test the abilities of Bradford.

Ah, he was back to Bradford again? So was this going to be more about getting the chance to try himself against Bradford than because Marquise was involved? It was like his inability to leave a new big cat at the circus alone. He had to look, he had to prod, he had to test the bounds of tolerance and assure himself of his own superiority, his own mastery. But with a big cat it was, in essence, to make himself a part of an accepted pride hierarchy; with Bradford it would be more lion against lion, testing strengths for territory and mates.

He was not at all adverse to the idea of taking on the arrogant prick who clearly thought he was better than all of them combined. Cold brown eyes. The eyes of a dispassionate killer. An intelligent killer though, not a brute. Bradford would kill coldly and cleanly and he would enjoy the kill, but he would not be a brute out for the thrill of blood, guts and gore. That one would be coldly clinical, efficient to the extreme and not afraid to test his limits. Much like one of the big cats.

No, more like a wolf, though wolves hunted in packs… and there were bound to be others like him in the Black Ops group. So why was Marquise a part of them? The picture just did not fit.

Bradford. He would remember the name and the face and if Yuy did not already have the idea, then he would investigate that particular man. There would be a service record for him somewhere, presumably buried under a mountain of security classifications, but since when had that stopped them? They would find his record and they would track the bastard and they just might go head to head with him.

"Barton, you ride with me."

His eyes snapped to Yuy who was looking carefully blank. That coldly snapped out command was unexpected. Trowa hesitated, eyes flicking to Une and then to each of his comrades in turn. Two plain Preventer cars were parked just beyond the fence they were approaching, the figures of two Preventer agents' darker shadows standing near them. Guards, he realised. Une took the threat from the Black Ops group seriously and did not feel secure even now.

Ambush? Did she suspect there would be trouble on their return to Preventers? How many agents had she assigned to this mission? He had the feeling the terminal and its immediate surrounds was rather more crowded than he had initially assumed. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed two dark figures entering the helicopter they were well clear of now. The machine would be serviced, all indication of the use it had been put to, and who had been on-board, would be removed and then the machine would be returned to its hanger.

Efficient as always.

Une motioned to the lead vehicle. "Yuy, Chang. Car alpha. There is a set safe route on the GPS. Straight to headquarters for debriefing and be aware there will be two escort vehicles maintaining a parallel course."

Why was he singled out to accompany Une?

Heero did not so much as blink as he made for the lead car, though Wu Fei's nostrils flared as he followed. Chang was Trowa's assigned partner while Heero concentrated on his assignment of maintaining Relena Darlian's security detail. Chang was not exactly pleased to have his partner singled out and separated from him before debriefing, and Trowa could not say that he was particularly thrilled with the distinction either.

Une led the way to the beta vehicle and as Trowa settled in the rear seat beside Une the driver activated the privacy screen separating the front from the back, giving Une a secure area. Slipping on his seatbelt Trowa watched the woman as the car rolled smoothly forward and followed the designated alpha vehicle.

A mobile phone fell into his lap and he glanced at Une, finding her coldly calculating eyes on him.

"Ring that meddlesome blonde of yours and convince him to get his nose out of matters that do not concern him."

/Oh, shit./

End

Karina Robertson 2011


	11. Chapter 11

Hey there

My apologies to everyone for the amount of time it is taking me to get chapters of all of the fics I'm working on lately done. Real life is biting but the writing, slow as it is, will still go on. It's my therapy and one should never give up on one's therapy, yes?

Hope you enjoy.

Karina

00000000000000000000

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Conspiracy, Information, Organisation, Data

Minor challenge response: Murder, Veteran, Curiosity, Assassination

Word count: 4,775

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for betaing this fic and to Dragon Dagger who reminds me of the differences in speech patterns.

Character Challenge: Quatre, Trowa, Duo

Chapter 11

The silence was pregnant with emotion, none of it genial. Quatre held himself tightly in check, wanting to push his friend hard for information and Duo barely held his urge to strike out again at what he viewed a threat. He had already slogged his friend once and he really wanted to avoid another confrontation that might degenerate into a brawl—he doubted Quatre would restrain himself if he was punched a second time.

He could not understand what was wrong with Quatre though. Something had dug under his friend's skin and was biting-hard. Something that probably was important if Quatre was pushing as hard as he was and not taking time to consider upsetting others. Normally the blonde would tip toe around in a complex dance designed to get him what he wanted with the least resistance possible.

But not now, not this time. Why?

Duo did not break promises. For all of his generally outgoing nature he was, in reality, a private person. He had made an art form of hiding the real Duo behind a larrikin nature, jokes and a genial smile. Scratch too deeply at that surface though and you found yourself faced with what he called Shinigami, his much darker, dangerous and far less funny persona.

Blue eyes, just for the briefest moment, glinted with shimmering violet but the blue subjugated the violet before Quatre could be sure if he saw it or not.

The blonde shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hands clenched tightly together on his lap out of sight of his companion. Not one part of this interview with Duo was going as he had predicted it would. Was he slipping when he could least afford to make mistakes?

He had every confidence in Duo's skills, be it behind the wheel of a car or piloting a space shuttle, but Duo seemed to have taken umbrage at his trust and was throwing up barriers against him, no matter what he did. To be frank, Quatre was finding himself somewhat uncertain as to how to go about breaking those barriers down and still keep their communication open. This altercation, this misunderstanding, had the potential to threaten the ties that bound them and he wanted nothing to change their friendship.

Threat or no threat to his standing with the other man, Quatre felt that he could not leave the situation alone. Something had to be done to settle what could be an even greater threat to world peace than past wars had proven to be. He could only place his trust in his friend to see his way through this period of… well… difficulty? Miscommunication? Rather an understatement really and he could not hesitate, not for long, and still make a difference to people who stood the greatest chance of being exploited.

This was more than being about himself and Duo and Marquise. They were not the only ones who could be affected, exploited and abused.

Taking a deep breath he focused on what Duo had said and fought down the quiver of dread. He could not afford to give up. Duo did not break promises, he knew it all too well, but in this case… in this case he simply had to!

He had not expected what Duo had revealed in a few simple, tersely phrased words. Maxwell made no promises lightly, not even to his friends. He was careful about giving his word because he would not break it, so what had happened between them in a few short nights for Marquise to have drawn a promise of non-interference from Duo?

Why?

Duo must have made an offer of some kind and how could Marquise have won his trust enough to get Duo to make that offer to help? They had not known each other before Maxwell had gone up the mountain, and as generous as Duo was he was not prone to making hasty offers. He was too careful for that.

So what might it have been, what had happened between him and Marquise, for Duo to take the plunge and make the offer?

Marquise had refused him, that much was obvious to Quatre. Marquise had not only refused him but had drawn a promise of non interference. The man did not intend to involve anyone in his business, but it could not be said that Duo was just 'anyone'.

Maxwell was a professional. A trained field agent. Duo claimed skills that could not easily be overlooked in regard to any clandestine activities Quatre could think up—and he could, from Quatre's experience, think up a great many scenarios. Duo was versatile, a dab hand at most skills, capable of improvising at need… generally not someone you would want working against you.

If one's back was to the wall Quatre could think of no finer ally to have than Duo.

A sudden vibration against his upper thigh almost caused him to wince.

Again? Really he should not be surprised and he should stop torturing himself. He was not by nature a masochist, though everyone claimed he needlessly tortured himself by taking the blame for everything on himself. But he did not do that. They thought he did, but he did not. He knew what was his fault, what he had caused through actions linking back to actions he had taken that others missed.

But this, here and now with the phone, was torturing himself.

He had made up his mind how things would be until the situation was satisfactorily resolved, when he had taken the first step on the course to escape from his duties as the Winner. There was not much he could do in the long term, Trowa was too good, claimed too many skills for him to avoid for long, but for however long he was capable he would keep Trowa out of the mess he was embroiled in.

Not that Trowa would be inclined to thank him for it. He would get a terrible lecture from his lover when it was all over, or rather when Trowa caught up with him, as he inevitably must. He needed to keep Trowa safe; the man was trying so hard to have a 'normal' life, as normal as one could have given one's lover was the uber rich and influential Quatre Winner.

He was not an idiot. He knew that at some point it would come to Trowa being involved. Until then, until it was inevitable, he would take no calls from his lover and he knew, given the time, who would have initiated the first call more than an hour ago.

He was a coward. It was past time he destroyed the chip in his phone in the event he weakened and answered, just to hear his lover's voice. The minute he hit that button to answer the call the phone's chip could be traced by Preventers… and any other interested parties seeking to locate him.

He would send another phone to Trowa, one he knew was safe, and it would contain one of the phone numbers that was, for the present, untraceable. They could use the phone perhaps twice, maybe a third time? Perhaps not, he reflected, his fingers curling over the phone, clenching tight. It would not be worth the risk. And that reminded him, he needed to speak to Rashid and have one or more of the men they had stationed around the city purchase more of the pre paid phones. The things were wonderful for private conversations, in that it took far longer to trace them than it took to trace the standard mobile telephone system.

How many calls was it now? Trowa had been him calling for over an hour and every few minutes the phone would vibrate and he would ignore it until it stopped. Then he would be left to fight off the guilt. Raising his free hand to his face he covered his eyes, hating himself. He needed Duo to confide in him and he could not give his full attention to convincing his friend of their need whilst fending off Trowa.

"Zoning out again, Quatre?"

Taking a deep breath Quatre shook his head slightly, drawing the mobile unit from his trouser pocket. In front of Duo he slipped the back off the device, teased out the processor chip and destroyed it by dropping it onto the floor and stamping on it a few times until he heard something crack. It took more effort than he had expected to break the chip.

"Quatre?" Duo was watching him as though he expected him to explode at any second, his blue eyes bright with genuine concern. "I don't think that was a good thing. What did you just do, Kitty Kat?"

No, it was not a good thing, but it was necessary. He could no longer afford to be distracted by thoughts of Trowa.

"I just… assured us… of some privacy. He's been calling every few minutes now since they landed the helo. I expect it did not take Une long to have a few words with him and needlessly worry him. I expected it, of course, but I had hoped she would at least wait until they returned to headquarters. No such luck though from the timing."

Blue eyes, wide with that deceptive innocence he was so capable of portraying, blinked. Once… twice… "You just cut off Trowa?"

"Unfortunately. It's necessary. For his safety as well as ours."

"What the hell had you done, Quatre?"

Duo looked anything but amused and Quatre had to resist the urge to flinch from him and tell him he had expected Duo not to like anything about this mission at first. He had to treat it like a mission and perhaps the most important mission he had ever participated in.

Duo had quite the temper when he lost control of himself and Quatre was only too aware that he had been pushing his friend since his return from the mountain. That Duo had hit him, and he had NOT pulled that punch in the least, demonstrated just how tetchy the man was getting. He needed to be careful and to get Duo on side. It was the only way he could learn what he needed to know of Marquise and his abilities.

He could not adequately plan for anything if he did not have the best data to process.

"I did what I needed to do, Duo. As I always do. I am well aware that I will be anything but popular with the guys when they realise what I have done, but it was something that I needed to do. For your sake, Duo, for Marquise and for me too. It's even possible… No, I know full well there are others out there, all throughout the ESUN, Earth and the colonies. There are others who claim similar abilities to us, who are working for the people who have now targeted Marquise. We need to know everything we can about them to help them-or to prepare against them. Some may not care, but it is likely some of them would be in two minds about working for these people who have targeted Zechs."

Duo was looking at him with a seriousness that suggested Duo was quite convinced he had bitten off more than he could safely chew without choking himself to death. He might have been right, but Quatre was going to be as prepared as he could possibly be before anyone found them.

"It's all about conspiracies, Duo. Knowledge and what to do with it. That is what it is all about."

"I don't get you, Quatre. It has nothing to do with you, with anyone. Why are you getting involved in something that has nothing to do with you? It's not Winner Enterprises related, you know? It does not concern you, or me, or Une, or anyone else that we know. Marquise is nothing to you so why interfere?"

"Because someone has to and I have the best resources to make an appreciable difference."

Another blank look tinged with disbelief… was that, perhaps, a hint of hope he saw almost buried by the disbelief? Did Duo think he might see a way to interfere in events without breaking his promise to Marquise?

"I don't get it. Your logic defies me."

Or maybe it was just his imagination.

He had an uncomfortable feeling he might as well try to get blood out of a stone as get information out of Duo until Maxwell understood his, admittedly, abstract reasoning. He had known it would not be easy, but he had not expected Marquise to skittle him before he even began. He had to get Duo to understanding his thinking and help him… he knew he was right.

Someone, somewhere, had formed a black ops group that was unlike any other elite group that existed within the confines of the ESUN. This particular organisation included amidst its agents an unknown number of working psychics who could make all the world of difference to the direction the ESUN might take. He knew it, call it intuition or whatever, but he knew he was right.

"I know it does not seem to make any sense, but believe me, please, when I tell you I am doing what I am doing for good reason. I would not lightly cut off communication to Trowa or to Une and the others. Someone has to take a stand in this situation. If I am right, and I am sure that I am, then there is an organisation out there that is making use of people who have very specific talents… psychic talents… and it has to be monitored. Just as much harm as good can come of them interfering in the direction we are taking. The use of people who have those kinds of abilities, to directly affect the future of ESUN policy, needs to be monitored."

"And who better to monitor that influence than you?"

"No. No, that is not what I am trying to do! An organisation made up of psychics teamed with ordinary people who are well educated in the ways of politics and big business, who are open minded to the paranormal, and who can nip disaster in the bud before it happens. That is what is happening right now, Duo. They are out there, active and they have been rather successful… perhaps too successful."

"You think Zechs is a part of an organisation that uses unexplained and unproven… erm… Well, whatever you want to call it."

"Yes, Duo, that is what I believe. I also think they were successful enough that they have been noticed by people I think it would be a very bad idea to give that kind of power to. I think they are being taken over and their doctrine is in the process of being compromised from within. It happens in all organisations at some point and when it does, change is inevitable. Change that may not necessarily be for the better."

Duo was watching him with narrowed eyes, and if there had been a glint of dangerous violet it was replaced now by interest. Quatre could feel it, the interest in him and his ideas. Duo was anything but a stupid man and there was that ability he had that Quatre knew existed and Duo used but denied. He had not lost Duo yet. If he chose his words carefully and gave Duo his due, he would have a willing helper, regardless of the promise made to Marquise.

"I believe the organisation behind the black ops group is made up of private wealthy individuals… businessmen, politicians and military personnel who had the best interests of the ESUN at heart. They have worked for years now, in the shadows, to keep the peace on track, but something has changed. I am inclined to believe that the centre of power within the organisation has somehow shifted. I don't know how or why. Someone may have had a change of heart, their interests may have changed, or they introduced someone at some stage who had their own agenda. Whatever it was, as a result of that shift, changes are being made to the structure of the organisation and its intentions, and that someone, or multiple someones, are now engaged in cleaning house. Anyone who might be seen as being a problem to the new directive will be eliminated by whatever means necessary."

"Someone like Zechs."

"Yes. There would be others too; it would not just be Zechs who would be targeted. Given his background and personal history Zechs would more than worry anyone who thought he might not see things their way. Knowing what you know about him, would you want that man in a pissy mood, breathing down your neck?"

"No. No, I can't say that I would."

Duo looked anything but irate now, watching him still with guarded eyes but that anger was banked now, controlled for the moment, and he was listening.

"I have people looking into it, but it will take time. I knew that as soon as I moved to initiate those enquiries I would become a target… and through me all of you. You were already involved though, because you have come into contact with Marquise and they can not be sure if he has told you anything about what he has been doing these last few years. I decided that if I could separate myself quickly enough from Trowa and the others, then they should be safe. I can at the least trust Une to watch out for them. She might need to assign them a mission, something that will keep them out of harms way, but it should be plain enough to those involved that I am the one doing this."

Duo snorted, shifting his weight in the chair, shaking his head slowly. "That does not mean they wouldn't use the others to get to you. No one is really going to be safe, Quatre. Not if you are right."

"I know, but they are warned something is up. They will be alert and they will not relax in a hurry. They should be able to guard each others backs, and their own. I only hope they are sensible enough to not get involved."

Duo laughed softly, a short, bitter and harsh sound. "You are an idiot, Quatre Winner. A big hearted, well meaning idiot. Marquise is sure he can handle the shit going down and I sort o' believed him. He's not useless, he's just as well trained as you and me and he's capable of doing some nasty shit, just look at the past. He won't take kindly to interference."

"That's alright, Duo, I am quite aware he will not be amused. I'll be sure to hide behind you when he finds out and comes gunning for me."

The angelic smile took Duo by surprise and the laugh this time was less bitter, more his usual manic cackle.

"You'll hide behind me? What the fuck makes you think that will be a safe place to hide?"

Quatre shrugged. "He must like you if he didn't do anything to insight a confrontation with Shinigami up on the mountain. If even a half of what I suspect about him is close to the truth, then that man is far more dangerous than we estimated. During the war he was right up there on the top five of my personal 'not to be messed with unless you can take him down in one shot' list."

"He has a certain way with words,' Duo breathed, leaning back in his seat and staring absently up toward the unseen mountains. "You can tell when he's serious and you get this feelin'. You know that you really don't want to get him angry at you... And Quatre, this will get the man more than angry."

"But it's not just about him, Duo. It's not just about Zechs, or you, or me. It's about others as well. They know they are out there now, real and capable of affecting the direction the world takes. They will look for them and they will find them… and they will use them."

Duo shook his head slightly. "Speculation. All of it."

"I'm pretty sure he works with others who are as 'special' in their own way, as he is in his 'special' ability. Special as in psychic. Real psychics, Duo, not charlatans out to make money from deceiving vulnerable others. People who are like us. You and me. Empaths like me, probably telepaths, precogs like you."

"Yeah, well about that. I think you are wrong there, Quatre. There ain't nothin' special about me."

"I've known it for a long time, Duo, and you will have to accept it eventually. You have a form of precognitive talent. You just 'know' what to do and when to do it… and that is a very special talent. Some people have years worth of warning, dreams, visions, whatever form it takes. Others might know a few hours or minutes in advance. Some precogs would see events clearly, some not. Some, like you, might not 'see' events at all, merely 'feel'. I know you are psychic because I am psychic and it is a part of me to recognise the same talent in others. These abilities do not have to work all the time, we would probably go insane if they did, but when they do work there is no denying them. I tried for years to deny what it was in me that was different. I nearly went insane. Don't you make that same mistake."

"This is not about me."

"It is. Duo, it is about you, me, Marquise and anyone who works with that organisation. Anyone who is alive out there in the wide ESUN who is psychic, who might come to that group's notice and be pulled into it. For those people already in the midst of it their lives are marked if they do not toe the line, and do you honestly think only Zechs would be considered a danger to the people who are now working to a new and different agenda? Tell me, why would Marquise have joined this group?"

"Like I'm supposed to know?"

"Speculate, Duo. You know his reputation, you have now met the man. Speculate."

Blue eyes narrowed and there was the smallest hint of violet in their depths. "Some would say he's a rabid dog in search of a master to point him in the direction of something to savage."

Quatre did not particularly like the coolness in Duo's voice, not that he could not understand the sentiment behind the comment. Duo had had his fair share of people seeking to lord it over him as Master, and get him to follow obediently in their wake. That he resisted their control and thumbed his nose at them in the process was earning him the reputation of being a dog that might at any time go rabid.

"I have no doubt that all Zechs ever wanted was a world that was at peace, and he probably saw and understood more of what was going on than you and I did during the war. He was never a fool or a rabid dog. Milliardo Peacecraft and Zechs Marquise was very precise and deliberate in his actions. I doubt that has changed in the intervening years, nor would his motive for his actions. Duo, I am not his enemy any more than I am your enemy. We are all linked by being that little bit different from what is considered to be the norm. It is high time what is considered to be 'normal' was overhauled. It does not surprise me that someone is making use of people with psychic abilities; what did surprise me was the work they were doing. From what I have learned of it I can only see that it has benefitted the ESUN as a whole… to this point."

"Just how much do you know about this black ops group?"

"A little, nowhere near enough to satisfy me at this time but I have to work with what I know, and I am still hunting out more information. What I do know suggests that recently something about the group has changed. They worked with supreme discretion, it is hard to distinguish their fingers pulling selective strings where no deaths occurred. Everything seemed perfectly normal, natural. More recently there have been a few suspicious deaths which resulted in sudden changes in political policy or in business dealings that, once I looked and understood what I was looking at, raised my eyebrows. In effect the gloves have come off. There appears to be a shift in their policy that quiet subterfuge is to be desired and it is being replaced by something that is altogether darker."

Duo drew a deep breath and held it, considering, and Quatre held his peace, content to allow Duo to review what he had been told.

"So… do you think it is just a policy change or is it more likely to be a full change of leadership?"

"I would expect there have been considerable changes at the head of the organisation. Subtle changes at first, until the structure that the new controllers desired was in place. Possibly there might have been a few comments made after missions that were not the usual, more subtle form of interference, which has necessitated a cleaning of house of the old guard. It is possible that people now in control believe that if they make an example of prime troublemakers, like Marquise and a few others who can cause them the most grief if they decided to openly defy their orders, that the other agents would quietly accept the new leadership."

"In fear of being the next example? Do you think they are right about that? That they will be unopposed after an example or two?"

"It would depend on how well acquainted with each other the psychic agents are. There would be a lot of factors to consider, like how many of them, psychics or more normal agents, are veterans from the war. How many are civilians with no military experience? How many are prone to standing up for their rights and how many have been isolated by their different abilities? That sense of being isolated, of being different, can affect how a person will react to a change of leadership. How many of the agents working for them are angry with the direction the ESUN is heading? How many of them think a more hard line approach is more appropriate? There are too many questions. I can't begin to answer them at this time. We don't know how many of the agents are actual working psychics, and if any of them are working under duress. Do they work in teams and if so how many in the team would be a 'special' agent and how many 'normal's'. Does that special talent set them apart with respect or fear?"

Duo absently toyed with the tail of his braid, eyeing his blonde friend with narrowed eyes. "Just how long have you known about this organisation?"

"Mm?"

Quatre looked up absently from where his hands were locked around the empty cell phone, long delicate fingers toying with the device. He had been in a world of his own, his thoughts flying from point to point as he sought some workable insight into the organisation he was already targeting.

"Duo? Sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?"

"How long have you known about this organisation and its black ops group?"

Blue eyes blinked owlishly as he dragged his thought back from the logistics of integrating psychics with non psychics in a viable working team.

"How long have I known? Oh, I haven't… not really. I've heard the odd whisper but it was never enough to really get me curious-not until now, of course. I have feelers out, and Rashid is investigating for me but it will all take time. They have interfered with Winner Enterprises in the past, twice that I am aware of, but only once that I can positively confirm. To manage to infiltrate Winner Enterprises and have a satisfactory result for them come of it and to NOT attract my interest before now... They are quite good, Duo."

"Yeah. I'm beginning to think so. So all of that over the last few minutes-it's all speculation on your part?"

"Most of it. One has to start somewhere and sound practical speculation is a good beginning."

End

Karina Robertson 2011

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Authors Note:

Katie asked a question that made me realise some people might not understand the reference to 'skittled'. In deference to those people skittled basically refers to 'being bowled over'. It is an old English game involving knocking down nine pins, rather like 10 pin bowling. Sir Francis Drake was, I believe, said to be playing skittles when the Spanish Armada attacked England.


	12. Chapter 12

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Organisation, Conspiracy, Trust, Information

Minor challenge response: Flight, Assassination, Codes

Word count: 2,630

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Many thanks to Katie and ShenLong Deb for betaing this fic.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 12

Without a decent headset the thunder of the rotor blades made conversation almost impossible. The noise was a deterrent to conversation, but the watching eyes were the biggest reason he reclined on the stretcher and played at being passive. They needed to see and believe they held control.

Every minute he could spend gathering his physical strength was to his advantage. His nanobots were programmed to heal him of physical injury and whilst he remained still and settled all of the efforts of the micro robotics were directed at his physical infirmity. Every minute offered that much more healing, increasing his chances of acting decisively should they make a move against him.

How far would they go?

It was an important question, one he could not at present answer. Why had they not put a gun to his head and attempted to finish the job? He would have expected them to the minute they were clear of the air terminal; instead he had been given the opportunity to receive professional medical treatment.

Questions.

Why had Marcus not been silenced? Did they plan to silence them both? The earlier attempt to take his life had failed and he had to wonder if Marcus was a survivor of a failed attempt now patiently waiting for a second strike against him? In a purely professional capacity there were marked similarities in his and the other man's personalities.

Questions abounded and he was no nearer to enlightenment now than he had been up on the mountain. There was too much he did not know.

Nor was he likely to get much in the way of answers for a time. He needed to proceed with caution, to be calm and focused, and above all to trust in himself and his abilities. That was the only way he would survive this situation.

They had been in the helo for hours now and no one had spoken. He was tempted to initiate the integration function to activate the new nanobots, but there was the chance that he might need to take immediate action and he dared not be distracted. The doctor and his tech had taken a chance with their lives, upgrading the nanobots in his system. He did not know if he could trust the integrity of the new system so it would be best to monitor the integration progress carefully. They would not have been ordered to enhance and upgrade him, not if certain persons were now in control.

Not if the one who had instigated the assassination attempt was planning on trying again.

The fact that they had acted, giving him something of an advantage, if he could trust the upgrade, suggested that the one's now acting to take control of the organisation might not be as thoroughly enmeshed at the top as he had assumed. Not as yet. It took time to effect a take over of a complex organisation, particularly when the organisation was made up of individuals who had their own ideas and ideals and claimed more than the average strength of will.

They, the other agents who were not so dissimilar to him, were neither soulless nor mindless. To take on the work they had been doing in the past few years required certain unique characteristics, not the least of which was a stubborn streak a mile wide teamed with the use of a special skill.

They were not many in number but they were extremely good at what they did, and not one of them was inclined to take on a task without first asking questions. Very pointed questions. If the answers to those questions were not forthcoming, or the answers were not considered to be satisfactory, then they would not take on the requested task.

They had the right to refuse.

It was a fail safe that had served them well, but perhaps certain persons had decided having agents with a conscience and the will to listen to it was an inconvenience? The organisation had been cobbled together over time, not laid out on paper and planned in minute detail before it had begun operations. It had begun small, a few people taking an interest in the politics and business activities of certain important persons and it had grown from there.

Agents were free to consult more than their immediate handlers if they were uncertain of, or with, the requested missions parameters and they were not generally afraid to disagree and speak out.

There were many followers of protocol, of course, those who acted as directed because that was the order given. The make up of the organisation was not unlike Preventers, though they were much smaller in number, though not in influence. There were agents who would be willing enough to act without question, but the really effective agents, those with that particular 'something', they never simply accepted a directive.

They really were, in a sense, a fail safe. They listened to their conscience and did their own research and investigation into the why of the directives handed down. Not all of them agreed all of the time on how to handle a particular case and they were free to object, refuse or negotiate aspects of the assignment.

He was a case in point.

/And they want to silence me./

Some medical personnel were not in agreement with the new policy, that much had been made clear to him and there was Marcus. The agent had made his opinion apparent, but he could check that when they had the time to relax. He could assure himself of who was friend, neutral or foe in the darkest hours of the night… or whenever he had the time to indulge his particular speciality and his subjects dropped their guard.

He had touched them, marked them. The fact he had physically touched the individuals, or they had touched him, enhanced their individual identities to his mind's perceptions, enabling him to establish a mental link over distance should he need to do so. Physical contact enhanced his awareness of an individual, though touch was not necessary for him to use his particular talent. Provided he knew his target's identity and he was in reasonably close proximity, he could make contact when their defences were lowered, but physical enhancement through the medium of touch extended his range and the speed with which he could establish contact.

He would be examining Marcus and his intentions at his first opportunity to determine if he had an ally he could rely on who was, like he, exceptional at what he did.

He simply could not afford to trust word of mouth alone.

Some of the fail safes had failed, dramatically so given the organisation had taken such a turn so quickly. More than one person had to be behind the infiltration and takeover, and he would need to determine just how many people were behind the recent changes in policy.

If he was not alone in this endeavour then so much the better.

He kept his head down, eyes closed, enhancing his other senses. The helo was beginning to stink with so many individuals crammed into its confines, the stench of heating mechanics, chemicals and hot, stinky humanity making a cocktail of scent he was all too familiar with. No one left their seats or spoke; professionals waiting in silence, biding their time and resting before action was required.

Their flight was now evening out, smoother without so much turbulence, marking their departure from the mountains. He had no difficulty in marking the subtle alteration in the dominating roar of the rotor blades, a hand pressed unobserved to the naked steel picked up the change in the vibrations of the cabin. He cracked an eye open just enough to check the placement of each individual through shielding lengths of his hair, noting their varied states of alertness. Two were dozing, potentially deeply enough for him to establish cursory links to them for later access.

He had to decide, here and now, how far he was willing to go.

Did he dare to allow his principles to obstruct the need to act?

Establishing such links with unsuspecting, unknowing minds was against the strict code he had devised for himself. There was no code of conduct in existence governing what he could do and since his sojourn in Epyon his fledgling talent had grown considerably. He had made a conscious decision to set limits, to set out painstakingly thought out do's and don'ts to limit himself for the protection of other people.

Not everyone with a type of psychic talent had the conscience or inclination to take that step. Some individuals did not care to, but he had existed on the border between sanity and insanity in that thrice cursed nightmare of an operating system Treize had installed in his mobile suit. He knew what it was to have his mind raped and he had promised himself he would not invade anyone's personal privacy for his own gain; to force anyone to take action against their own conscience.

There was no rule of the land, no law, to forbid him from entering into another person's consciousness, but the truth of that was simply that no one wanted to go through the nightmare of formulating such a code of ethics and enforcing it.

It was easier to think that there was no such thing as psychic phenomena.

It was so easy for the human condition to indulge in ignorance as pure bliss.

How many of the select few psychic agents had sided with the new administration? How many of the people he had worked with were now opposing the very ideals that had drawn them to work together to protect, to further, the peace?

What could they do if they broke away from the organisation?

Run?

To where?

Most of them had spent half their lives running from one thing or another in the past. They tended to be outsiders, those who existed on the fringe of society because it was safer to be ignored, unknown. To hide what marked them as being different. Those who had been there, in that shadow world of simply existing, not truly living, would not be inclined to return to it. They had found acceptance in the organisation and they would not be keen on turning the clock back.

Take the organisation back? Easily thought, not so easily done. Much would depend on how many had turned, fully accepting the new direction. Much would depend on a great number of factors and it would take time to sort through them all, time he might well not have.

He was being taken back to the fold, but for what purpose? He could not trust anyone until he had had time and the opportunity to delve into their subconscious and ascertain their deeper intentions. Individual people might not, initially, realise what they intended to do and he was not inclined to take a knife in the back, physically or figuratively, because someone had tipped over the point of no return at a critical moment.

One could only prevaricate for so long.

So many crucial factors needed to be considered and when could he say with any certainty that it was safe to begin his probes? He had to consider himself to be in a secure location, with a secured time frame, to begin working with his speciality. Neither factor might be easy to achieve, although he had been careful not to reveal all of the facets of his talents.

He had learned early to keep an ace up his sleeve.

They knew something of his abilities, but they did not know or understand exactly how he did what he did. That was true of so many of the psychics who were the agents at the core of the group's effectiveness. How do you measure something you do not understand? How do you define in words something that simply does not have the words to adequately describe it? They had been trying to understand, to define psi talents, but so little was understood at the present time.

It would be his greatest asset, that ignorance. He could make it work for him.

He needed to be wary of a great many factors, of course. Relena was a public figure and they would make use of her against him, either in the belief that threats to her would allow them to control him, or to affect the outcome of their plans for the ESUN. She really was his only weakness.

He had taken great care to separate himself from Noin. To keep her safe from exploitation, from him as well as those he worked for, it had been his only option. She would not understand, of course, and he was not inclined to try to explain it to her either. She was a strong woman and she would not like to think he had thought her vulnerable and in need of his protection, but wanted or not, he had chosen to protect her. There would be no going back; he had made sure of that. Their relationship was water under the bridge as far as he was concerned.

He had made the cut as clean and as deep as he could to give her a chance at a future, but he could not make such a cut with Relena. Not even using the ice cold clarity that Epyon had granted him could he divorce himself of the ties to his sister. Too long had she been an absent but warm part of his life, of his dreams and beliefs. He had known she would make a difference to the world, that she was a true Peacecraft, and his existence was only to protect her so that she could do her work. The work their father had died for.

/Crap./

He was losing focus again and that was not good given the situation. Epyon had enabled him to focus on a desired course and dedicate himself to the pursuit of it to the exclusion of all else. That sort of clarity was what he needed now. He needed to step back, look coldly, clinically and logically at the structure of the organisation. He needed to place his trust in Yuy and the Preventers to keep his sister safe from whatever he stirred up extricating himself from the web he had willingly walked into.

If Maxwell kept his word and kept out of it, if Yuy kept Relena safe and resisted the temptation to dabble… There were a great many if's, unfortunately, and at the present time he had not realised even half of them.

There it was again, the change in the helo's revs, the subtle alteration in the hull's vibration. His time was running down. He needed to know where they had brought him and he would need to take note of as many details when they arrived as he could. They would be landing soon and if he desired to leave this outpost alive, and he did, then he would need to find every advantage possible.

The red head stirred near him, aware as he was of their proximity to landing, and he wondered if Marcus knew their destination. There was a subtle tension in the man that suggested much Zechs did not like.

How much did Marcus know? How deeply was he involved? How many factions was the organisation evolving into? He needed to delve deep into the man's subconscious and ascertain if he could trust the man. Sometimes it was best to look at everyone as 'the enemy'.

Until they proved otherwise.

And that was his personal moral dilemma resolved, was it not? Survival had always featured high on his list of priorities.

End

Karina Robertson 2011


	13. Chapter 13

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Unreasonable, Anger, Conspiracy, Assassination, Crisis, Argue, Curiosity

Minor challenge response: Conference, Information, Organisation

Word count: 2,098

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for beating this chapter and to Dragon Dagger for keeping me on the straight and narrow.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 13

He would peel the skin from his lover's skinny arse when he got his hands on him.

Had Quatre ever been spanked as a child? If not he would be in for an enlightening experience because some drastic measure was obviously required to make him see reason. He had to be made to realise he could not always involve himself in matters that, quite honestly, were no concern of his.

Marquise was certainly of no concern to any of them.

/And curiosity is no excuse./

Had he honestly thought, even for an instant, that he could stop Quatre from becoming involved? The idiot had not even waited for them to return from the mission before immersing himself in something he did not understand.

Something he should stay out of. Something they ALL should stay out of.

Une would not have had him attempt to contact Quatre if she was not certain he was meddling in matters best left alone.

His fingers closed over the mobile phone like a clamp in his frustration and he stared out at the blur of neon lights as they drove through the city. He hit speed dial yet again, knowing already it was useless but carrying out the act regardless. There was always hope, but he knew the bastard had to have turned off his phone.

Une sat tight lipped beside him. He had not had to say a word as they made their way back to headquarters; it was glaringly obvious that Quatre was not picking up. He had left one voice message for Quatre to ring him and that was all, now he merely made the call periodically in tight lipped silence and listened to the phone ring out to voicemail.

What Une thought on his actions he dared not think, but she could be no more thrilled with the situation than he. Quatre should know better than to get involved in clandestine dealings, he was being watched no less than the rest of them, and he was the head of a multi billion credit business empire. Whatever he did, wherever he went, it was considered news. There were always eyes and ears attentive to the comings and goings of the rich and famous.

/Except now, when I need to know where he is and what he is doing the prat has managed to escape everyone's notice./

Quatre had chosen to be The Winner and not a Preventer agent. He had chosen to pursue the business empire that employed millions of people either directly or through flow on employment, throughout the length and breadth of the Earth Sphere. It was his job, his duty of care to his employees; a duty Quatre had willingly chosen, to see that the corporate empire ran smoothly.

Now he was haring off and playing with conspiracy theories on a grandiose scale and imagining himself to be a secret agent… and now that was going a little bit too far, Trowa decided. Fair was fair, after all. Quatre was more than capable of making an impact in regards to Preventer style operations. He kept super fit, he kept abreast of the politics of the Earth Sphere and he knew as much, potentially more, as any of the rest of them about how the ESUN ran and who in reality ran it.

And he well knew the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of civilisation.

Oh yes, Quatre was quite capable and unfortunately he was also insatiably curious. He hardly lacked for confidence in his own abilities.

Trowa ran his thumb over the screen of the handset and watched as they left the brightest lit area of the central city. Preventer Headquarters loomed ahead; the compound was well illuminated and there appeared to be no extra guards in evidence. If Une had raised the security level it was not obvious.

She did not stir as they entered the underground car park and he tried once more to reach his lover, already knowing he would be ignored. He would be giving Quatre more than just a piece of his mind when he got his hands on him. They had been through this before and he had warned the man, much as he loved him, that there were lines they should not cross. It appeared that Quatre may have stepped over one of those clearly defined lines they had established when they determined to make a serious attempt at their relationship.

He was far from ready to leave his lover, but had Quatre decided to take matters that far? What had happened for him to close off communications between them?

It had to be Maxwell's decision to head up that mountain and then his own assignment by Preventer to go in pursuit of Maxwell. Their being involved had to at least factor in the equation that had led Quatre to this extreme.

"Conference room three for debriefing in fifteen minutes. Inform the others."

He glanced at Une as the car door opened and she slid from the vehicle. They had parked? He had been that distracted? Not good, but she had said nothing beyond informing him of their debriefing. He did not think they had been stationary for more than a few seconds and she was already striding toward the elevators, her back ramrod straight and invisible icicles freezing the air around her as she moved.

Yuy and Chang were waiting for him and they walked together to the elevators, both obviously content to ride a different car and thereby escape the arctic chill of their Lady. The air in the building was at least comfortable away from Une in her present persona, and he slipped the mobile phone into a pocket as they waited for the car to arrive. He would continue to try, though to have been ignored for so long was a clear enough message.

"Conference room three. Fifteen minutes."

Heero grunted and Chang inclined his head slightly, and it was Chang who breached the silence with a question as the doors opened. "What has her in a worse mood?"

"Quatre is not answering his phone."

Heero huffed and Chang closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed. "I hope she is wrong."

"We can hope." Trowa snorted, clenching his hands into fists and resisting the urge to grate his teeth. "The curious little bastard can't leave anything alone."

"So are we in, regardless of what Une has to say, or are we going to be sensible and leave this one alone unless we are specifically instructed to interfere by Une in a professional capacity?"

Yuy's scowl deepened and he glanced at Chang, well aware of what the monotone comment implied, before entering the car and making room for his companions before pressing for floor thirty-three. He still had not determined, to his satisfaction, his own motives and thoughts on interfering. Honestly, Heero would have preferred not to commit himself, but if Winner had taken the bit in his teeth and was running with it…

"We do what we have to."

Chang grunted and Trowa remained silent.

Yuy had such a way with words.

Winner was trying her patience.

The idiot would destroy everything she had painstakingly built over the last few years and for what? Just what was it he was intending to do by going AWOL?

Une ground her teeth as the elevator lifted her higher into the complex. She would need dental work if she kept this job and much of that work would have to be attributed to stubborn male pricks who could not keep their fingers out of other people's pies. Marquise was bad enough on his own, but team him with the former Gundam Pilots and you had a mess no one could safely manage.

It would be doing everyone a favour if she regressed to her former occupation as an assassin and removed all six of them from the mass of humanity. They had their uses, but were they actually worth the hassle of managing them?

/No one would miss the bastards./

What to do? She had her own watchdogs on her heels and would need to tread carefully. Of course she did not have the whole picture to work with, but then neither had Winner and he had dived into the mess without a moment's hesitation.

Action was like a drug to them, they could not do without a regular dose of adrenaline singing in their veins; but why did they have to threaten to take down the peace with their hunt for excitement? It was pathetic really, that they could not settle to a normal life and get comfortable with it.

She could not afford to allow anyone to see her rattled. Seeing Him after so long… it brought back memories. Memories she would rather forget. She could not deny he was a fine looking man and was maturing into an uncommon male beauty. There was a presence about him that one could not ignore and it had nothing to do with that handsome face. He had lived hard and he had lived rough, but there was still that refined air about him that marked him as being of the nobility.

Treize had had it too.

Twelve minutes and she must face the pilots in debriefing and she had no idea how to continue with the operation. Twelve minutes. She might be able to delay making a decision for a few hours, but could she take the chance on ignoring it and leaving whatever was to happen to Marquise to bumble through and Winner to explode into prominence?

Whatever Quatre Winner chose to bring to public attention was news.

News that was never ignored.

She hissed softly. Winner could be discrete but only if it suited him. He could be subtle and if he felt the need he could rage through a china shop with all the delicacy of a bull in heat in hot pursuit of a rival. She stepped out of the elevator and set her features into her default neutrality. She was not happy and everyone had best realise it and stay out of her way unless she summoned them. She had some thinking to do.

"Good evening, Anne. You are out and about late."

Sally Po smirked at her, falling into step and nodding politely as she kept pace as they strode through the hallways.

"Always something to be done. Nature of the job." She could wish the woman would find someone else to annoy.

"Mmmm, that is true enough but I haven't seen you this tense since the Barton incident. It can't be comfortable walking around at that pace with your knickers in that much of a twist. Is it Yuy, Relena, Maxwell or perhaps Marquise?"

The woman was uncanny in her perceptions and to be honest she was a nuisance at present as a distraction. A surge of anger arose, was ruthlessly grasped and trampled into submission. There was no time to indulge when Winner and Marquise were involved.

"Ah, a combination of the four, eh?"

"Don't you have something better to do than annoy me when I have work to do?"

Could she take the hint? Ah, no, of course not. This was Sally Po, Preventer Chief Medical Officer and, after so many years working together hand in glove, friend.

"I am doing my work. My 'Anne is shitty' metre has gone off the scale. In the interests of avoiding a bloodbath in the halls I ventured out to defuse the situation."

It was unladylike, and she did try to be a lady, Mr. Treize would expect it of her, but at just this particular point in time who cared? Certainly not her. Une grunted, continuing to stride through the hallways and indeed lengthening her stride, her glare sending agents scuttling like frightened mice out of her way. The only one who resisted the glare and stuck with her was Po, all the way to her office.

Smiling.

"So which of our troublemakers is it?"

No. She could not involve others needlessly. She did not want to involve Preventers at all, though in time she might have to. She was certain this was only the first act in the play to take down Preventer and replace it with something else. Something darker and more dangerous.

"For your own sake, Sally, back off. This time you don't want to get involved. I'm trying to make up my mind whether or not to involve Preventer and you really do not want to be in the firing line."

End

Karina Robertson 2011


	14. Chapter 14

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Conspiracy, Organisation, Assassination, Camera, Computer

Minor challenge response: Water, Codes, Information

Word count: 3,374

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge: Trowa,

Chapter 14

"Any indication of frostbite in your extremities? Any lingering numbness, pins-and-needles?"

He resisted the impulse to wave his fist in the man's face. The last thing he had expected was to be taken to the medical centre directly from the helipad. What he had been expecting was the direct route straight into a cell or, more likely, an immediate debriefing in the usual isolation unit… and then a cell. Or a gun waved in his direction.

Such a cheerful thought.

The whole base in its isolated piece of the countryside was screaming at him that something was wrong. His instincts were clawing at his vitals telling him to shift his frame out of the base and make himself scarce- fast. Given they had come directly to the medical centre he had activated his existing series of nanobots in defence against any foreign matter entering his system, protecting himself against unwanted drugs or poisoning.

"No."

He was a paranoid bastard and he was likely to get worse the more they deviated from normal procedure.

Any material injected into his system would be isolated, sampled by the nanobots and appropriate measures taken automatically without any further need for instruction from him via his primary central interface. Anything they introduced to his bloodstream would have to be quick acting to take him down and with the nanobots active against drugs, quick countermeasures, of a physical means, would need to be taken to keep him down.

Marcus had been summarily summoned on their arrival at the helipad and he was not happy the man had left under escort. In his judgement that was not a particularly good development. The Irish Celt had been something of a comforting, if largely silent presence. He was almost sure he could rely on Marcus if any covert moves should be made against him, but the small degree of comfort resulting from his presence was now gone and he was on his own.

It was not the Celt that worried him but the escort that had 'discretely' followed Marcus that worried Zechs. Marcus would have picked up their presence immediately they had appeared; he was no novice with or without the use of his particular 'special' ability, so he would be aware of them. Zechs had no concerns about that, but their presence was yet another sign that all was not well. Was it coincidence that two of their top field agents, both of whom were on record as being 'different' were obviously being monitored? Zechs did not think so.

The bony, eternally ugly finger of discrimination had reared its head in headquarters at some stage, and it would take time to repair the damage done between those who were 'normal' and those who were 'talented' or 'gifted', as some people insisted on calling them. If it proved to be a false alarm or if events were smoothed out in short time, well and good, but he was not inclined to believe matters would be resolved in the short term.

And there was no such thing as a Union for spies to take their grievances to a neutral body for adjudication.

Marcus had conveyed a warning from their previous controller to run and he had a feeling he needed to be out of this base as quickly as humanly possible. He did not know who would be waiting to 'debrief' him, or if that debriefing was slated to end in his confinement or death, but he was only going to hang around until he learned if he could garner any information from them. Questions were always a two-way street, the questioner revealing information in the asking of his questions for anyone with the will to listen… and Zechs would be listening hard for what was said and unsaid.

"The field medic cleared me. The Commander would have the report ."

It had all the earmarks of being a cursory examination. A check over, as was usual following an agents return to a permanently established base from active duty. That was the impression this medic was giving, but Zechs was hardly in the mood to relax. Perhaps they were checking to see if he had activated the new infusion of nanobots, if they had become aware he had been injected with the new series?

Too many possibilities and none of them were good.

He had never worked with this particular medic and he did not recognise any of the staff, and that had his hackles up. His controllers were aware of how he was around staff who were new to him. He had trust issues and he had never tried to hide his paranoia. For that reason he had kept the one medical team through his career with the organisation and they were now conspicuous by their absence.

Was it unreasonable of him to be so distrustful? Not in his opinion. Given his past and how many people out in the world, people of influence or what was so loosely termed as 'the common man', it made no difference to him, too many of them wanted the same thing… his death. Walking dead men learned quickly to haunt the shadows, tread lightly and vanish without a trace at the slightest sign of danger.

Right now everything screamed 'danger' in bold brilliant coloured letters to him.

"Well, I can't say that you would be in such good condition if it were not for the nanobots, but you appear healthy enough, generally speaking. You need rest, that's a given, but from the scans and the feedback from the nanobots I can't see any problems that need immediate attention."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he was healthy enough, that was a given. The drugs the one who intended to kill him had filled him with were long out of his system, and the nano machines were almost done restoring decent circulation to all musculature. In the not so far future everybody would have a healthy dose of the microscopic mechanics that had given him a chance to find out who wanted him dead and for which reason on what was really rather an extensive list of possibilities.

It was Maxwell who had given him this chance, saving his sorry arse and warming him up when he did, and now the nanobots allowed him to be fit enough to counter any action that might be made against him. Action he hoped would not yet occur. He could do with a few more hours to assist his recovery, and he wanted the chance to ask questions of certain people before he might be forced to act. One way or the other he would be forced to take action, be it to run or, if he judged there was a chance of saving the organisation, to take appropriate measures, but act he would.

He already knew whoever was behind his near brush with death would never trust him as an agent. His time in the organisation was up. He trusted them about as much as they trusted him, which was to say not at all. It simply remained to be seen if he would take down the whole thing with his departure. It might yet prove to be salvageable and he would have to trust himself to judge the degree of corruption.

"Commander Burshall has requested you attend debriefing in his office in thirty minutes. Care to freshen up first?"

He had no assigned quarters in this base so he would be given the use of either the medical centre or some randomly assigned quarters. The temporary quarters he might be assigned were sure to be bugged and the medics would monitor his every action if he remained here, either way there would be no privacy from prying eyes. Thirty minutes? It would be enough time to initiate pre activation of the new nanobot series and enhance the existing security protocols of his active series. It would also allow him to judge the exact extent of his recovery and, unfortunately, allow others to judge that recovery too.

No matter the option someone was sure to be watching.

Still, he did not need to allow them to know how well… or how badly… his physical recovery had progressed. He would need to be careful not to overplay, or underplay, that recovery. He should have been dead, he certainly would have been if not for Duo Maxwell, and he would not take this chance lightly.

"I'd like a shower, actually. Here's fine."

The medic grunted, eyes on the touch pad in his hands. "Do you need a change of clothing?"

"No. Haven't had these on for more than a few hours." He was not about to give up the clothing that contained the communicator Marcus had smuggled him and he was uncertain if he could manage a transfer under observation.

He would have to keep an eye on the clothing whilst he showered. Marcus had destroyed the unwanted tech secreted in them so they were the safest option he had.

There had been no clandestine warnings given to him from this nano-technician and the medical staff; they were all base staff, not field units who tended to develop closer bonds to the field agents, but neither had there been any false move made to concern him. If they knew there was trouble then they were a part of it or more likely would step back and watch for clues to which way the wind blew before deciding what part to take.

"Well, let's get you on your feet to begin with. There are a couple of two bed wards with private shower facilities through that door, all vacant at this time. Take your pick."

He inclined his head, having already noted the second door leading from the examination room. Two bed wards, all empty. Not so bad.

He dared not allow them to know just how weak he felt. Here and now weakness would get him killed and he was far from ready to meet his maker. He needed to keep them wary of him, uncertain, afraid… force them to keep their distance. If he showed weakness at the first test he could expect to be visited soon and the visit would be deadly.

They had already tried and missed… barely, but they had missed the kill and that was what counted. He was not inclined to give them a second free shot, any further attempts and they would pay with blood and that blood would not be his. He needed to set himself up quickly, gain whatever privacy he could and step one to that was concentrating the nanobots where they would do the most good… a steady production of adrenaline would assist, covering the pain and allowing him free movement, but not a massive amount of adrenaline. He would not last long if he exhausted his reserves.

The hardest thing about learning to control the nanobots in his system had been conditioning his mind to think in a text format. Nanobots were not telepathic, they were not a living breathing, thinking organism the human brain could contact. One could not contact the individual units; rather one had to initiate a link to the central processing interface implanted behind the ear directly into the brain. Whilst it had been a hard thing to master initially, particularly for a teenager as he had been at the time of his initial induction into the wonderful world of nanotechnology; it had taken him weeks to get down the basic 'sample blood' command in under fifteen minutes. Now it was second nature to him to think in 'text' for the central processor to convert his thoughts into binary coding. The central processor interface then passed on his instruction to the multitude of nano machines infusing his body.

One did not think 'cluster to muscle and ligaments, brace and support the function of walking' and simply have it done. The central processor could not understand pure human thought processes, but it did understand electrical impulses. To that effect an interface had been created where by one 'thought' in text, each letter of the text would be intercepted by the CPU and be interpreted, converting to binary commands. With time and practise the electrical impulse codes that formed each individual text letter of a command could be mastered and 'thought' at blinding speed for the entire process to be finalised in quite literally the blink of an eye.

To his surprise he had been relatively quick to master the form of communication. Where some agents had taken months to master a brief basic command in under five seconds he, like others who interfaced with onboard CPU's and Artificial Intelligence units, learned quickly in comparison. With the experience he had gained later with Epyon and the Zero system he had learned to excel in the development of a form of short hand coding, reprogramming his personal core interface unit to better suit his individual thought processes.

Some people thought in spoken words, others in colours, still others in tactile sensory interpretation. No two people were the same, so the designers of the nano interface processing units had had to make the CPU and its interface adaptable, flexible in how it operated.

Getting the nanobots in his feet and legs to cluster at the vital points in muscle and tendon, to deaden any pain signals from screaming nerves and actually swing his feet from the stretcher took all of two seconds. He had faith in the technology and did not hesitate to push to standing, feeling the medic's hand hovering just off his upper left arm, ready to steady him if he wavered.

There was a brief spike of pain quickly controlled by the nanotech and he grunted as the world spun in his eyesight, the medic's hand touched his shoulder, steadying him, and the world settled into clarity around him. He had been lying down too long and actually being vertical took a few seconds to get accustomed to. His balance centres were shit.

"Better than I had thought, given your lack of exercise."

He had been correct then, they were waiting for him to show weakness. He was aware of the shadow beyond the frosted glass partition separating him from the other examination cubicles in the medical centre. He had an escort out there. More scribbles on the clipboard, more notations for his record. Not a problem, not yet at least. If he got the chance he would have his medical files erased and his personnel file for good measure before he departed. Likely he would need to hack the system at some later point in time and do the job, but for now just standing on his own two feet was a victory. Now he had to walk the half dozen or so steps to the exit and get himself cleaned up.

He definitely would appreciate a shower.

"All of the wards are fully serviced. You should find towels in the shower cubicles, if not you will find them in a cupboard on the outside of the bathrooms. There is a call button in each cubicle if you need assistance."

No delay, no faltering, it would not do to hesitate. Walk steadily to the door, no rushing, just an easy casual pace, try not to tense his back too much, they would be watching for signs, any signs, interpreting from body language more than the medic's report. Give them something to think about.

He felt that he was walking on red hot needles. Pain spiked in his feet, in his toes as his weight shifted with his movement. Each stride was agony, each footfall was beyond agony. Show nothing… Out the door, a quick look around and yes, camera's. To be expected, though he could have wished for privacy it simply was not going to happen. The first room would do, he really did not care; it was just a means to an end. Get into the room, shower and whilst in the process of getting really clean for the first time in too long, initiate protocols to give him every chance of physically defending himself if it all went to hell in a hand basket.

The ward was simple enough, two beds, the usual medical array on the walls behind each bed, a low cupboard beside each bed for personal effects, both beds made up, no sign of occupation. Surveillance camera in the far corner trained on the beds, a potential blind spot… yes, as he had expected. The door to the bathroom facility was close to the camera but it would be in the field of vision covered by the device.

He maintained his steady gate, not too worried about any small twitches that might be seen. It would be expected that someone who had been horizontal for days would be a little twitchy. He had a little leeway to play with. Pushing open the bathroom door revealed a curtained section over a showerhead, taps and floor drain, a tiled floor, bar-rail with two towels and a plastic stool and toilet. A couple of hooks on the wall furthest from the shower would allow him to hang the clothes he was wearing out of harms way… and out of the reach of anyone who might have tampered with them had he needed to leave them unattended in the ward itself. The call button to the right of the door and a basic turn latch on the shower door for privacy… all pretty standard stuff.

He could not get his clothes off fast enough. The lack of boots and socks was a problem he would have to address later, but for now all he wanted was to get himself under that hot water and soak out the past few days. He was desperate to wash his hair and yes, there was a bottle of shampoo and a conditioner provided… normal hair? How generic. Still, it was better than nothing.

There might well have been a camera, he would not put it past the organisation. If he was to be given the chance to clean up and not be directed specifically to one area then they might have installed hidden cameras in each of the bathrooms. Yes, he was still paranoid and getting worse, but a little bit of paranoia in his line of work was a healthy thing.

He could not allow weakness of any kind to show, so he had to expect cameras even here in what was essentially the toilet, and if there was one thing he had not been since entering Lake Victoria Academy it was body shy; one learned quickly in the military. They could look all they wanted, he did not care except for the fact it meant he had to act natural just in case he did have hidden watchers.

As he stripped and hung his clothes on the hooks he considered how best to go about the necessary business of ordering his body. He needed feeling in his extremities so he could not afford to block the nerve impulses for any appreciable length of time. He would just have to suffer in silence and remember that every second the bots worked on him there would be progress made. There was a time limit imposed to this sojourn in the shower and he suspected he might be able to push it a little, but he would not push these people too much.

They would expect him to have issues with his body given his recent experience so he dragged the plastic stool under the hot spray, swished the curtain closed to keep his clothes dry and parked his backside gratefully. He proceeded to examine his feet carefully, pressing against the soles at certain points, massaging gently whilst his hair grew heavier with the water. He could spare a few minutes before he got down to the serious business of washing, and the foot massage covered the concentration he needed to program the nanobots. It was time he initiated the scan and reprogramming of the new infusion of machines so that when he needed them they would be ready.

It felt… good, to be clean.

End

Karina Robertson 2011


	15. Chapter 15

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Organisation, Conspiracy, Fear

Minor challenge response: Memories, Argue, Information

Word count: 2,456

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for her work betaing this fic and to Dragon Dagger for her words of wisdom.

Character Challenge: Duo, Quatre, Zechs

Chapter 15

"You know you can be scary a little shit, Kitty Kat?"

"Eh?" Quatre's blue eyes widened slightly.

Duo shook his head slowly and instead of answering Quatre he indulged in a long and slow stretch. He was tired. Damned tired and all he wanted to do was curl up in a warm bed in a place he could consider to be safe, and let himself die for a few hours. Every muscle in his body ached, every joint felt as though it would seize up at any movement. Getting horizontal and just letting all of the tension go was beginning to become an imperative.

"Look, Quatre, I really need some shut eye. I can't think straight and it's not good when that happens. I tend to get a bit… well, let's just say I don't listen or think well, okay? To fully appreciate what it is you are saying, and where you are coming from, I really need to be fully rested and a darned sight more alert than I am now."

The blonde sighed heavily and his fingers flexed around the carcass of the mobile phone. He was tired too, it had been a long day and it was proving to be an even longer night, but he could not allow himself any rest. Not yet. There was groundwork that needed to be laid before he could permit himself that luxury.

"We have about two hours to kill before we stop."

Duo seemed to deflate, his spine melting to send him collapsing over the small table, his face buried in his arms folded to cushion his head from the impact. What might have been meant to be a sigh came out as more of a low moaning groan. After a long moment of silence Quatre saw his hands clench and a moment more saw his friend pressing his palms flat to the table to allow his head to drop that little bit lower.

"Where are we going?"

That was easy enough to answer and there would not likely be a lot of questions as to why they were leaving the city. Duo knew the need to be assured of their surroundings.

"To a safe house."

"Where?"

"In the mountains."

"Oh, Jesus, Quatre!" The blonde flinched at the outburst, not that he could blame Duo. It was, really, rather ironic when he thought about it. "I just left the fucking mountains! It's cold, snow bound and blowing a blasted gale up there! Why the hell do I want to go back?"

There was violet in the blue eyes when Quatre looked down to find himself being glared at from Duo's prostrate position. Not a good sign, but his options had been limited and of his choices this safe house was the best of those limited options.

"I chose this particular safe house because it will allow us to monitor who comes and goes more easily than we can if we were in the city. We are not going right up into the mountains, just into the foothills. Rashid has a team preparing the place so there will be little for us to do by the time we get there."

There was the unmistakable sound of teeth grating and it made Quatre's teeth ache in sympathy. "So where in the foothills are we going?"

"There is a lodge we can use to monitor the situation until it's time to act. For the moment, and possibly for some time to come, Rashid's people will need to do the leg work for us to keep us in the game."

A thin, long finger tapped against the table's surface for a few moments as Duo considered the matter, eyes hidden now by the angle of his head and the fall of his bangs.

"Won't you be missed?"

"Not initially. Quatre Winner is officially on holiday. My Board of Directors has been urging me to take a break for some time now and I finally decided I would… at least that is what they will think. I have slipped under the radar so that I can take the break and not be bothered by reporters and freelance photographers; I sent a memorandum to the board stating such. It should be enough to give me a bit of time to make other arrangements for the company, depending on how matters develop. For the moment we have a week, perhaps as much as two, before I have to take further steps."

Duo groaned as he forced himself to sit erect once more. He had a foul backache and his head pounded in a fashion that suggested a heavy metal rock band had taken up residence. Two hours before he could get a decent chance to rest? He doubted he would last that long. His blue eyes were very blue now, a dark blue, much darker than normal and all Quatre could see in them was irritation and a bone aching weariness.

"Well, shit. Zechs told me to make myself scarce when we got back to civilisation. I was thinking about going to ground on L2, but I guess this will serve."

Quatre frowned, inclining his head slightly as he studied his friend. "Zechs told you to go underground? I… see… Ah… How much did he tell you? What else did he say?"

Duo snorted softly and inclined his body a little to allow him to rest a shoulder and his head against the wall. "Nothing, Quatre. I told you already. Nothing means nothing. He told me it would not be safe for me, purely and simply because I went up the mountain after him. That I would be marked and I was to disappear for a good long while. He said that was the safest thing I could do. Stay low, be patient and stay out of it. Let him deal with the shit going down."

"Good advice, I suppose, given your circumstances, but he will not be able to deal with this. Not alone. Not if half of what I suspect is reality. More coffee? Or tea?"

"God, no. I'll slosh when I move and I really want to sleep. I don't know about what is going down, or why you think he is incapable of dealing with the situation. Let me tell you Quatre, that is one scary assed son of a bitch when he wants to be."

The tone of Duo's voice caused Quatre to arch an eyebrow and lean back in his seat, considering Duo for a long moment. He had known Duo long enough to know he did not scare easily and he did not give respect easily either. And here he was demonstrating a great deal of respect for Marquise and, if not fear, a wariness of any action Marquise might make.

"Did he… threaten you?"

Blue eyes tinged toward violet and he snorted in sardonic amusement. "You should know no one threatens me and lives to enjoy it, Kitty Kat. You should know at least that about me by now. I'm a psycho bastard; that is what they tell me. Nah, he didn't threaten me. The bastard didn't need to. You could not look into those blue eyes and not know he is dangerous and that he was deadly serious. The man has issues and questions that he wants answers to and believe me, he will not take kindly to anyone who obstructs his pursuit of those answers."

"He must have given you some kind of clue as to his abilities?"

Duo grunted softly, shaking his head a little. "Hey, Quatre, with the exception of you I haven't knowingly met any psychics before, okay? Given that, how the fuck would I recognise one if I saw one? All I know is I don't want to mess with blondie unless he wants to be messed with… and believe me, he does not want anyone interfering."

"That is all well and good, Duo, but in the long term that is not going to help. This is about more than you, me and Zechs. Or Zechs on his own. I would estimate that as much as an eighth of the population of the ESUN would have some degree of developed psychic ability. Mainly minor abilities, nothing really useable, but it will become a growing trend over time. As psychics mature and breed the population will increase. I firmly believe that we are a step forward, a notable development on the evolutionary chain, but this is neither the time nor the place for us to hold that discussion at this time. With each successive generation there will be more and more people with more developed abilities. It is inevitable that they will find themselves being exploited if some sort of measures are not taken to protect them."

"Yeah, maybe, not that I say I am believing any of this, you understand, but… maybe. So why you? Why us? Why now? Why do 'we' have to do this?"

"Because I trust me, and I trust you, not to exploit ourselves or others like us."

Duo blinked, considering his friend for a long moment. "I know shit about this. There ain't no way I could exploit anyone."

"This clandestine organisation Zechs has worked for appears to have been in existence for a considerable period of time without causing damage, or appearing to, as the case currently stands. There is more investigation to do as yet before I could say for sure, but it appears that they made good use of their people and their skills with out coercion or exploitation of the individual."

"That depends on who you are talking to, I would think. Could be hard to judge."

"True, but as things stand, with what I currently know, I believe that we could do better. I don't mean infiltrate organisations and corporations and influence and change world politics. There will always be those sorts of organisations out there without us setting up another. My thoughts are more to set up some kind of protection and training foundation to train developing psychics. It will be a very long term affair, Duo."

"You are making me a bit uneasy here, Quatre. Where the hell would you even start to do something like that? You are talking about creating something that we know nothing about; and building something like that could take a lifetime. Potentially several life times. I mean, how the heck do you even prove such a thing as psychic abilities exist? Ah wait, what am I thinking, I'm talking to you and your 'space heart'. Okay, but how do you measure it? How do you explain it? You have never really been able to explain it to anyone, have you?"

Quatre's smile was brilliant, megawatts of radiance near blinding Duo. "You have understood! Yes, Duo, I do mean creating something that could well take several lifetimes to get right! But someone has to make the first move; take the first baby steps. It will be the kind of legacy that I would be proud to be associated with. Anyone with the right kind of training, backing and commitment can make a business work, but making this... This will be different. I want to make the future something we can be proud of, and I want to know that there are others like us out there who want the same thing. They are out there, now. I want to find them."

Duo shook his head slowly, small motions, not so much denial of Quatre's words as a motion to measure the immensity of the proposition.

"So you want to start… where?"

"With Zechs. With him and the others who have worked for that organisation that managed to attracted him and keep him interested. They would be one hell of a core group to centre the creation of something like this. I don't know yet what to call it, or even how to adequately describe it, but it would be wonderful, Duo. It could be made to be something magnificent. Wouldn't you like to become a part of something like that?"

"Shit, Quatre, I don't know what I want! Why do you think I haven't joined Preventer? Why do you think the watchdogs are on my back all the time? I'm a loose cannon. I'm not committed. I thumb my nose at everyone because I don't know what I want."

A determined glimmer lit the aqua blue eyes of the Winner and he grinned. "Oh, Duo, you are perfect for this. You really are. You call a spade a spade. You don't pull your shots. You are a psychic yourself, even if you don't think so. I 'know' you are. You have a sensible head on your shoulders and you are not afraid to thumb your nose at the system."

"Gee, what a glowing description of my character."

"It actually is, if you would examine what I actually said instead of only half listening."

"I'm too tired to think."

"I know and I'm sorry. I have no idea how hard it was for you up on that mountain and I know you generally don't sleep well. Up there it must have been harder. I can 'feel' how tired you are, physically and mentally. If I can convince you to join; convince you that you would belong in such an environment… You would not be alone, Duo. You are NOT alone. You just have to see that and believe it."

"Maybe, Quatre. Maybe. I'm just too tired right now. And as it happens I slept reasonably well up on that mountain, when I got the chance to. Zechs needed some attention initially, but when I could spare some shut eye… It was… better."

Quatre eyed him quizzically. "You don't sleep well at the best of times… But then you would have been exhausted, so I suppose that would explain it."

"Nah, that's the worst time for me getting decent shut eye. The nightmares are generally worse if I'm physically or mentally exhausted. One thing I can say to you is you wasted your money sending me to all those shrinks and psychiatrists. One decent session with Zechs had me sleeping like a baby… well, as close to a baby as you could ever get me to sleep. With a little more practise I might just get a handle on my dreams."

The blonde straightened in his seat, back rigidly straight and his eyes positively glowed with the intensity of his stare. His smile widened slowly until white teeth flashed and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Duo blinked, looking around him as though seeking what had so amused Quatre. "What? What is it?"

"Oh Duo, you have no idea what you said, do you?"

End

Karina Robertson 2012


	16. Chapter 16

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Conspiracy, Shadows, Assassination, Organisation

Minor challenge response: Scream, Respect, Camera, Weapon

Word count: 2,5679

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 16

The least he could say in their favour, 'their' being the staff officers giving the orders at this base, was that they had not attempted deception using the 'sugar and spice and all things nice' tactic. In point of fact they were being anything but 'nice', though to be sure they had not yet attempted to put a knife in his back. However, with their less than friendly eyes centred on him he needed to cover his weakness with a façade of at least control, if not strength. He had to give them no hint as to the extent of just how far he fell short of his usual condition.

His feet, particularly his toes, hurt like a bitch. It was impossible to walk with his usual smooth gait but he would not reveal the extent of the pain. Discomfort, that was what they had to believe, discomfort, not pain filled agony ripping though him as the nanobots worked at rebuilding flesh, skin and nerves ruined by extreme cold. His calves were stiff to say the least; the left calf muscle constantly shot little bolts of lightning in protest of every step he took. His back ached like a bitch and each stride taken sent ripples of agony through him, not a bit of which he could react to.

He could have blocked the nerves and the pain receptors reacting to the torture using the nanobots, but that was, in his opinion, too dangerous at this time. Much as it was uncomfortable he needed the pain to keep himself alert to his surroundings and remind him he walked through a hornets nest. Fatigue was no excuse to contemplate.

Plain and simply put… This was the enemy.

One did not give away any advantage, large or small, to the enemy.

He could not afford to indulge the discomforts of the body, even if all he wanted to do after a few hours of this constant pain was to curl up and scream in frustration with it all. Ah, such a thought… A good full throated bellow or three to express just how much pain had plagued him would make him feel better, even if for a few measly minutes.

Thinking of screaming his lungs out would have to suffice for the moment.

Life could be such a bitch sometimes.

They had been his allies if not his friends, but circumstances had now changed and he was not about to let his guard down. He was careful not to pause in the doorway, to maintain his casual stance as he strode through the medical centre, and give the impression he was ignoring the personnel at their stations.

He did not recognise any of the men surrounding him who had come to escort him from the bathroom to, presumably, some office for questioning. They would call the interview 'debriefing'. Given he had made a point of 'browsing the ether' over the past few years in order to touch the minds of as many of his fellow agents as he could in the organisation, that lack of identification could not be considered good.

Not good at all.

Everyone had to sleep at sometime and he used that simple fact of life to his best advantage, getting a 'feel' for each individual by sampling their dreams. He would recognise anyone whose awareness he had touched and the six individuals of his escort were complete unknowns. They had to have been hand picked by someone who had some actual idea of how his ability worked.

Not so good.

But that was not to say he did not know anything about his escort. What his 'gift' could not tell him a knowledge of body language would have to suffice. How they moved, how they related to each other, how they watched him and their surroundings equally. He could learn a lot from that.

They were ex military. Their erect carriage, the exact starched creases of their uniforms, their attention to detail… No surprise there. Their stance, how they held themselves both in standing and in walking was a dead giveaway. Not just how they carried themselves but how they never crossed each others path; keeping always just to one side of the people immediately around them so as not to cross the line of fire. It showed someone with the knowledge who had lived that way for years and had the eyes to see and recognise the patterns that were entirely unconscious on their part, that they were a trained team.

A specialist team sent to 'escort' him and ensure he did not wander around the complex poking his nose into matters they would determine were of no concern to him.

He was almost certain they were still within Sanc. If that was the case then it was a direct breach of the contract he had with the organisation. An integral clause of the contracted conditions of his employment with this group had been broken, if this was the country of his birth, and he would need to have a few words with people over that.

There were supposed to be seven bases scattered around the world of any appreciable size, maintained in a quasi military fashion. They were not supposed to be, and never had been intended to be, a strike force. They were not even an armed intervention unit. That was not what their function had been designed to be.

Their organisation and particular skill sets were supposed to permit them to work behind the scenes, quietly and efficiently taking out the outposts of those who were dissatisfied with the ESUN as it stood. They were supposed to maintain the peace in a peaceable fashion using diplomacy where possible and methods other than direct force and insurrection. Any idiot could go in all guns blazing, but it took finesse and skill to effect change in an invisible manner.

And what a load of crock that was proving to be, he mused, walking in the centre of his escort with the best approximation of an easy stride as he could manage. He wanted to rest, to get some sleep and give the nanobots a chance to further his healing. To give himself the chance to establish contact with a few very specific individuals who might be able to give him some answers and smooth his departure from this place.

It was not going to happen, at least not for a while, if it happened here at all.

They would probably be inclined to take him out in this out of the way base where few, if any, awkward questions might be raised. It was something of a compliment that they feared him, he supposed, but he was not particularly inclined to be honoured by the distinction. He could well do without their 'special interest' interfering in his life.

They obviously did not have a healthy enough respect for him if they had built this base within Sanc's borders, attempted to delete him and now… Well, just what was 'now' supposed to be exactly?

It worried him that Marcus had vanished, though in the shower when he had extended his perceptions he had touched the awareness of the Celt briefly. The man had been distracted but he had little doubt Marcus had felt the contact. Whatever distracted him had not exactly alarmed him, though Zechs had sensed caution and growing interest, but there had been no 'fight or flight' reflex; at least not yet.

He needed to be wary of everyone in this place. Everyone needed to be looked upon as a potential enemy and only one person at this stage he would consider to be a potential ally.

He could have wished they had been above ground so he could look out of a window or three and determine his location. The peaks he had seen on exiting the helo surrounding the base had seemed familiar in shape. He had recognised one or two of the low bushes growing near the helo pad as being native to Sanc, but they also grew wild in the countries adjoining Sanc's mountain borders. A good look at the peaks would have allowed him to identify his location, but he had not been given the opportunity to sight see.

He caught the moment their attention shifted, backs tightened just that little bit more, heads raised a degree, and hands hovered a centimetre closer to weapons. They approached their destination, he decided, noting two men standing guard at a door, each obviously armed, faces carefully blank, hands at just the exact regulation distance from the side-arms they carried. A sensible stance if they were not intending to set him off.

The current set of guards escorting him through the complex had been careful to keep their hands clear of their weapons, but military training could not be hidden from one who had lived and breathed it for so many years. They were not trained by one of the law enforcement agencies of the world but by the Alliance in most cases. One or two individuals he had noted had that distinctive arrogance of Oz training in their carriage.

What exactly they though he might do if he took exception to any action taken in his vicinity might be interesting, not that he was curious enough to pursue the point. For the moment he was not inclined to push matters anymore than they were at the moment.

No word had been spoken to him from the time they arrived at the bathroom for him to now, and one of the guards at the door rapped smartly on the door three times as they approached. By the time they stood before the door it was open and his escort smoothly took a half step to either side, away from him, leaving his way to the door clear.

Interesting.

So they would not be entering the room. That could be good or bad implications for him. Good if it presented him with fewer people who might need to be dealt with, bad if they remained at the door to obstruct his departure should he desire to do so with little to no warning… or permission. It might come to that, he knew, though he doubted it would. It would not come to a physical conclusion unless someone, be it he or whom-so-ever he was about to face in that room, miscalculated.

By his estimation this should be a 'testing of the waters'; no direct confrontation, more a feeling out of where they stood with each other. Subtle insinuations, connotations of 'we are superior to thou' would feature. Joy, he was really looking forward to that, but at the present time it was the very best that he could hope for. He was not in good enough condition, mental or physical, to face that sort of protracted and convoluted trial, but he would have to face it and, more, come from it in at least a neutral position, if not on top.

Now above all he needed to keep his wits about him and demonstrate no weakness. This situation had the potential to reach a critical mass and he wanted no volatile reaction.

There was not one of the three men seated at the broad table that he recognised.

Definitely not good. A further indication of how far matters had progressed. It appeared the coup d'état was well underway, if not already complete.

"I must say, Marquise, that for a dead man you appear to be quite spry."

Short, stocky, well matured in years, greying dark hair and sly blue eyes under bushy dark brows. Caucasian. The suit was more than a little on the expensive side in cut and design, and potentially hid a multitude of sins that only an old soldier gone to seed would want to hide… and those blue eyes were anything but jovial.

Let the games begin then.

"I have found that rumours of my demise appear to make a resurgence every few years or so. Thus far I have found them to be amusing, admittedly a touch bothersome, but just that. Rumours."

No name tags on the desk or worn by the individuals; no indication of who these men might be within the new command structure of the organisation. Wonderful, and he dare not use the communication nanobots to hack into the central computer integration system and infiltrate the organisations personnel files. They would be on the lookout for that kind of action and he was not about to give them a chance to use it against him, but he gave the silent order to capture face images for later reference.

"One wonders if they should not have applied the code name Lazarus to you, instead of Black Opal."

Taller, more slender in build and perhaps a decade or so older than the first to have spoken. White hair and black eyebrows shadowing cold dark eyes. It was a face of character, the face of a politician who knew well enough where he stood and believed he held all of the cards of note in a contest yet to be played out.

"Personally I believe I have exceeded Lazarus. He only rose from the dead once, and then he had divine assistance." But then for this particular resurrection he too had been graced with divine assistance; the God of Death in person had liberated him from the chilly grave.

"You are a cocky bastard, Marquise."

The black man gave the appearance of being solid muscle and was, without a doubt, still active in the military. He did not claim to be able to recognise every officer in the ESUN, but this one was no menial. Experienced with command, the dark eyes were narrowed with dislike and his fingers twirled a pen constantly, feeding the pen up and down the line of his fingers in a cycle that took precisely five seconds to complete. The clothing style was military though there were no insignia or rank in evidence and he carried himself like a command officer, demanding and fully expecting to receive the respect of a subordinate.

He did not bother to respond, instead casually striding across the room to pull out a chair and angle it so that his back was to the only solid wall in the room. He could keep an eye on the three doors and the men seated behind the desk without putting undue stress on his already pushed body. They had made a mistake. Just one, but it was a telling mistake that would give him a certain advantage if this meeting went to hell-in-a-hand-basket.

They sat in a row, along the far edge of the table that separated him from them. There was only the overhead ceiling light which shone almost directly on him but cast the three into a shadow. It was not a deep shadow, but he had worked with less before when the situation had called for it. The door behind them appeared to be closed, but he was quite certain it was not and that there were hidden observers there, and most likely there were a few more behind the door on the wall opposite him. That door he could see quite clearly, the overhead lighting served well enough to illuminate it. There would be guards waiting to act should there be a need in there, or more likely, there would be a security station that monitored the feed from the three cameras covering the room.

One camera was on open display, aimed directly at him, another in the rear wall above the door, and he marked a third above the filing cabinet standing to one side of the door he had entered by. The door through which he had entered the office was closed but there would be at minimum the two guards acting sentry, possibly the entire six man contingent who had escorted him.

No black spots in the room then.

An inappropriate twitch might have him shaking hands with Lazarus if he was not careful.

End

Karina Robertson 2012


	17. Chapter 17

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Conspiracy, Shadows, Assassination, Organisation

Minor challenge response: Rescue, Games

Word count: 2,872

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Many thanks to Katie and ShenLong Deb for betaing this chapter.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 17

Waiting, with patience he certainly did not feel, required an effort he could barely muster the energy to apply.

It was necessary that he be patient, therefore he would be patient. He was certainly not inclined to initiate the conversation… or rather, the interrogation. The longer they sat and stared at each other across the gulf of a desk, the more the nanobots worked on his system and the healthier he became. Waiting was to his benefit though it would not be long enough to make any appreciable difference to his overall physical condition. Regardless, every second counted in the struggle for survival.

He was many things, pilot, soldier, stubborn to a fault and no doubt considered to be an arsehole by many, but the most profound of his skills seemed to be the fine art of survival itself.

Ah, a flicker of movement from one. Just for a moment a finger tip dipped to contact the desk top before large black fingers folded neatly together, securing errant digits from betraying impatience, nervousness, or anger.

"I've been told you can be an unreasonable son of a bitch, Marquise, but that you are also grounded in the realities of our profession. I have yet to judge the accuracy of that statement for myself."

Well, that was blunt enough. And an interesting beginning too. They would have read his psych reports, most likely all of them, and he had quite a few in his file. He had taken great pains to ensure that no two of his 'therapists' would agree on his 'condition' and the result was a nicely rounded collection of contradictory documentation. And, yes, he could not argue that he could be a contrary bastard when he wanted to be, to his advantage. He knew the games they played, how to play them, how to read them. How to win them. He could never afford to relax, to let down his guard, and he was uncomfortably aware of how easy it would be for him to make a fatal mistake.

If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that at some point in time, they would try to kill him.

Playing dangerous games with dangerous people he did for a living, and he had no illusions about the fate that ultimately awaited him and others who played this game. At some point, maybe not today or tomorrow, or even a year from now, but at some point in the future they would succeed in killing him. It came to all of them who fought in secret to keep the world ordered.

The math was indisputable.

It was simply a matter of time before the inevitable happened, having come so close to death on this latest occasion. They had almost succeeded in removing him, through the medium of careful planning and the use of a civilian with a grudge against him. He had not exactly let down his guard, yet he had been snared.

That galled him the most. The fact that the prick who had taken him down leaving him to die of the cold in the middle of nowhere, was not a professional killer. It rankled his pride, but it was an abject lesson that he was slipping. It was never a good thing to become complacent, and now that his guard was up it would not be so easy for them to move against him

It was time to cut his losses and move on to something, somewhere else. A little bit of obscurity would be a very good thing for a few years.

"Consider this your debriefing, Marquise."

He arched an eyebrow, careful to maintain a neutral expression, observing in silence, knowing it would irritate them that he watched them as intently as they watched him and maintained silence. He had not actually acknowledged their authority over him and really, what more did they expect of him? Two could play at this game of cat and mouse after all, and they should know better than to treat him as they would an amateur.

They had not even bothered to introduce themselves; how impolite was that?

What they wanted from him was something he was determined not to give them. They would have to wait until hell froze over before they would get an admission of their superiority over him. They would be seeking some indication of how he was taking the attempt on his life, some sign of the degree of urgency required to dispose of him quietly and efficiently before he disrupted their goals.

It was possible they intended to use him as an abject lesson to others with abilities not dissimilar from his own, should he, and they, seek to protest their take over. It was entirely possible, perhaps, that if he folded they might use him to rope in others who might have considered the new regime a danger to their health and the world order.

So many possibilities and no certainties other than the need to watch his back.

With his high profile and unique skills base, and the deadly reputation he had acquired during the war, was he simply considered to be too big a danger to their grand scheme to be permitted to survive? The idea that someone had decided having him on the books as an agent could be a threat to some new world order now making its move might be considered flattering, in a way.

The possibilities were endless.

With the forced changing of the old guard, the replacement of the established command structure and constitution, really he had no other option than to cut his ties with this group. Though he had yet to thoroughly investigate this new order, he strongly suspected they, as in the organisation itself, were no longer seeking to simply maintain the balance between the powers that ran the world and the colonies. The group he had signed on with and supported had sought to maintain a working balance, but he suspected this new order had more direct, and far less subtle, measures in mind.

To directly influence world shaping decisions, to guide events to their own set designs.

To rule from the shadows through strategically placed puppets.

So familiar.

Remnants of Romefeller?

He had witnessed it before, during his days with Treize Khushrenada in Oz. He had watched Treize manipulate enough people and events to be able to recognise it in a multitude of forms; and it was not just Treize and Romefeller who had manipulated world events. History was dotted with events of such a nature, the names of the shadow masters sometimes being revealed in the fullness of time, but most often not.

The shadow men and women of the world had ever been more dangerous than a fully armed soldier in the height of action. If you were even the slightest bit serious about observing the power brokers of the world, then you could not help but observe active politics with a jaundiced eye. It usually did not take a lot of looking to find the first signs of manipulation; to watch as subtle strings were pulled, affecting the plays of power. Usually such puppet masters were cloaked in many layers of obscurity, hiding themselves away, directing the game from their safe shadows. Masterfully keeping their identities secret from all but a favoured few.

Those people who were seen to lead the world forward, in peace time or war, were rarely the individuals who needed watching. An astute observer would look amidst their aide's and followers for the real power.

"Report, Soldier."

His eyes flicked to the military man; active service still, undoubtedly. The snap of command in his voice was unmistakable, a command any active serviceman in a military organisation was conditioned to obey. Well, it sucked to be active military, didn't it? Blessedly those days were long behind him, and he had never entertained that 'never think for yourself, obey' attitude. He was not in the military, had not been for years, and if they considered this take over to be a military action then it was all the more reason for him to vanish.

They needed to be put on notice. He needed to make a big enough impression to ensure they must be ever alert, perched on their toes, looking over their shoulders. They must be aware he was lurking 'out there'. Somewhere. Always watching and waiting to strike should he feel the need to interfere in their grand design. It might not crimp their actions, they were probably made of sterner stuff if they dared to make this move, but it would hopefully make them look nervously over their shoulders once or twice a day, aware that he might strike from his own set of shadows. From the front even, or from their blind side.

He just needed to make them think that he would act should he feel the need to take action against their power plays.

One of their number had made a move; had spoken directly to him in a manner that required a direct response. It was about time too. He had begun to wonder if any of them were capable of speech after that initial brusque commentary, and much more of this staring, taking the others measure, would have them at each others throats in sheer frustration. If they thought to intimidate him with their presence, or the very unsubtle suggestions of rank separating them, then they had underestimated his pride in his own blood lines… and in his own capabilities.

He was a Peacecraft and power ran in his veins. He had learned the genteel art of deception, deceit, threats, bullying and bullshitting at an early age to facilitate survival.

"I have a team I work with; an officer I debrief to." The 'You are not them' he left hanging silently.

There was nothing to say he had to play the game their way.

He watched, seeking the small signs that would betray their reaction to that not so subtle barb. They were not on his support team, nor were they any part of the command structure he was familiar with within the organisation. It was a simple tactic, quite transparent, and they should have expected it.

There was always the possibility that he might have been taken by another organisation, and that they sought to dupe him into a debriefing to the detriment of the group he worked for.

It might have been a possibility. Well… You never knew, did you?

Anything was possible.

Except there was Marcus, and the medical team who had infused him with an entire series of unregistered nanobots to be factored into the equation. They had warned him, not in so many words as much as by their actions. There were also a few things about the asshole who had abducted him and thought to kill him that had to be considered. There were questions about how that incident had been managed, let alone how it had actually been achieved, that set up alarm bells and presented him with a list of questions he needed answers to. A list that inevitably grew like a rampant weed and would, for a time, continue to grow.

But anything was possible and nothing should be discounted.

"Your regular unit and support team have been disbanded. All field teams have been recalled and suspended, pending an investigation into discrepancies in the records and certain… inefficiencies."

Interesting. The military man was taking the conversation on himself, leaving the others to observe and evaluate his responses. Pre-planned? He was an interesting choice of the three. He would have expected it to be the one with the overwhelming superiority and confidence of a politician thinking he held all the keys. Definitely the politician and not this military man. A surprise, but not a disaster by any means.

But the bastards did hold all the keys, if they succeeded in taking over the organisation and having the few others with similar talent to his own work for them, without question. Some would succumb to pressure and give in, that was unavoidable, but a notable few would not work so blindly.

What was happening with Marcus whilst he was stuck here playing footsie with this mismatched panel of game masters? Game Masters? Or might they themselves be more puppets dangling from another's strings? If he needed to get out of here fast, and that possibility was growing more certain by the minute, then he would prefer to take the Celt with him and Marcus had always been one to ask questions and stir the pot.

This entire place screamed danger to him. It was riddled with the stench of the rotting dead, a purely psychic scent he was all too familiar with. These three in particular reeked of it.

He needed to treat it as a warning, not a threat. He could not allow it to dominate him. He could not afford for it to dominate him.

His thinking was muddled and his body was protesting this enforced activity. He had limits, everybody had limits, and he was pushing his, but whilst they sat here and played word games his body had the chance to take some rest from the physical inactivity. He was afraid that if he fudged this conversation there would be no more time for rest. Things would become physical very quickly.

He really was not up to the fight.

His best bet for learning exactly what was happening inside the organisation was to get into the head of one of these men. It would not help him now, at this exact moment, but it would help later, when he had the time to work. They could not understand exactly how he did what it was that he did. He had been told that often enough by people more familiar with extra sensory abilities, that his talent was 'odd'; but that was good. Their inability to understand how it worked, and exactly what it was he did, was to his advantage. All he would need to learn everything he needed to know was a quiet place to relax and the time to fully ensnare one of them in sleep.

Once they succumbed to sleep he would be able to read them like a book, and then he would know what was really taking place. To his benefit everyone had to sleep.

But he had to survive to get that chance and he had to set a barb, a hook, for him to contact them at a later time.

"You can consider this the first session of the official enquiry of the investigation. I am well aware of your reputation, but let me tell you, mister, it does not impress me, nor am I afraid of you. You are an agent under obligation to this organisation and you are required to answer my questions. Now, where have you been? We need the names of everyone involved with you during the past week, and we will require a detailed time line of your activities during that period."

Well, there was indeed a reason why it was the soldier doing the talking. Fine, he had a better understanding of how they wanted to play this now.

"Up a mountain somewhere in Sanc, dying of exposure. I have no idea what day it is, let alone what time it is, so I will regrettably have to decline the detailed account until I can place myself on more familiar terms with 'when' I am."

Huh. They had not actually expected him to give them that much, and he had offered it up front and in as expressionless a tone as he could muster.

He had surprised them, good. No disguising that reaction, small as it had been. Let them think on that for a minute or two and he could use the time to get familiar with the 'feel' of the three individuals and pick which it would be best to target. For what he intended to do at some point in the future he would need to be able to identify that unique 'something' that marked each man. No two people had the same psychic footprint and the unique psychic 'flavour' of the individual minds of the three was his goal now. He did not need to know their names to work on them; he merely needed to be within a certain distance of his subject and to know the 'signature' that was unique to the individual.

Some information he would volunteer, here and now, but some information he would refuse to offer up to them. Unfortunately they knew about the part played in his rescue by four of the former Gundam Pilots. Unfortunate, but there was nothing he could do about it, but he did not have to give them everything. He certainly would give them as little information as possible about his rescuers, and even less information about the one who had actually gone up the mountain for him.

He owed Duo Maxwell, and he would do what he could to send them on a blind hunt away from that particular individual. It was the least he could do.

End

Karina Robertson 2012


	18. Chapter 18

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Mobile Suits, Anger

Minor challenge response: Information, Veteran

Word count: 2,260

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Many thanks to Katie for betaing this fic.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 18

He was heartily tired of hearing the 'cheery' recorded voice of the exchange operator informing him the device he was trying to reach was either turned off or out of a service area. With a muttered curse Trowa threw the mobile across his desk, watching dispassionately as it slid across the barren surface and momentum caused it to skid off the edge. It didn't dip towards the floor for a good two feet before it swan dived out of his line of vision. With the carpeted floor it didn't even make a satisfying thud as it hit the floor.

It was a bastard of a day in his opinion.

He was tired. Bone aching tired. The sun was up, well and truly, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up with his lover. Only there would be no comfort found there, as his lover would be absent. There would not be a welcome breakfast ready as he walked through the door; no one in the house answered the telephone and that suggested no staff. There would not be a warm body waiting for him to stretch himself around, and there would not be a satisfying bout of morning sex before he allowed himself the joys of sleeping half the day away whilst Quatre went to the office.

His lover had really done it this time.

Something, and he had no idea what it was, had been bothering Quatre and not just recently, but for an extended period of time. He had been aware of it and he had known it was approaching the point where they were going to have to broach the subject and air whatever it was that distracted his lover. He was aware there was something brewing and he had not pushed.

He knew well enough how Quatre worked.

Quatre brooded. It was one of the cute but annoying as hell habits of his lover. Quatre brooded a lot, but some things were more serious than others and the longer he brooded before speaking up, the bigger the impact was likely to be on them, either as a couple or as surviving Gundam pilots under close government scrutiny.

He was no more pleased by their watchdogs encroaching into their lives than his lover, but there was little they could do about it short of throwing away any chance they had of being considered model citizens. Being allowed to rejoin society without guard dogs dogging their every step hinged on not rocking the boat and giving those in power over them cause to fear them.

What did Quatre honestly think he was doing? This was the sort of behaviour that was exactly what the government in residence feared from them. If one of them acted in a questionable fashion, then they all would be tarred with the same brush.

He wanted the chance to be a normal citizen, but he was no fool. Honestly, he was quite aware of the fact that there was nothing 'normal' about his life to date, and because of that he was finding it harder to cope with 'normality' than he had expected. For as long as he could remember his life had hovered on the edge, if not in the thick of, combat situations. He knew far more about how to kill people than how to live peaceably with them.

It was not easy to let go of the past.

Quatre, Chang and Maxwell had been the ones who had the greatest chance of being accepted back into society and not be branded as dangerous. They had had relatively normal lives; admittedly two of the three had had privileged lifestyles and Maxwell had lived on the streets, but their early lives were far more normal than his life had been. And Yuy... Well, Yuy was by no means normal in any sense of the word and, to Trowa's uncertain knowledge, Heero had never been a real child but a weapon in training.

Heero was about as messed up as you could get, which was why the possibility he might get together with Relena Darlian was less than smiled upon in polite circles. To be wholly honest, they all were messed up in their own individual ways. Messed up to hell and back, but it was the way they were.

'The government is right to watch us, much as I don't like admitting it. We are not normal.'

But being 'normal' sucked. It was boring, repetitious and what about it was so gloriously wonderful that they should strive for the mantle to be claimed as theirs?

'Ah, shit.'

Where had that come from? Of course it was desired to fit in, to be accepted by those around them.

Individually or as a group, they did not have access to the magnificent Gundams, so their threat valuation should be markedly diminished. Yet they were watched as though they had merely hidden away the Gundams instead of destroying them. Mobile suits were no longer combat capable, a shadow of their former glory, used as glorified cranes for massive construction sites dotted through space. On Mars mobile suits made construction of the new colony possible. No longer weapons of war but just another tool to be used in mankind's expansion into space.

And they were banned from even controlling one of those tame suits for fear of what they might be able to do with them.

God damn it! He was angry at the world for not being what he had hoped it would be, at the government for refusing to accept them, for segregating them, and now... now he was furious at Quatre for doing this to them. To him. He had been abandoned, no word of warning, simply abandoned, and he had no idea what was going through his partner's mind. That dumb blonde might be a business genius, but he was still a dumb bloody blonde who over thought things and prematurely jumped to actions...

Ah, dumb blonde? Premature action? Who was the dumb one? Really?

Facing facts, it was Quatre who had proven himself to be their tactician. He had been brilliant, seeing things none of them saw, directing them efficiently... when they had bothered to listen to him. Left up to the group at large they would have failed hopelessly, had Quatre not stepped forward and directed them.

Had he... Was it possible he had not been listening to something Quatre had been telling him? Had he not been paying proper attention to his lover? Had he missed something that might explain what was happening now?

He had spoken to the office and learned that Quatre had made changes, drastic changes given Quatre was something of a control freak, and clearly intended to be absent for some time. With a few deft calls and instructions Quatre had quickly and neatly divorced the company from whatever actions he was about to take, and though the government would investigate the company and its ties with whatever storm Quatre was brewing, they would find no links. He knew his lover too well to think that Quatre would make his employees suffer for his plans.

It had to do with Maxwell. And Marquise. He was not delusional, Quatre was too smart to act half assed. Whatever it was he was reacting to, he must have had measures in place to facilitate this sudden action and not discomfort any more people than was necessary. Which meant he had to have been making plans for some time before this incident with Marquise.

So did it actually involve Marquise and they were misinterpreting this entire business?

But no message? No communications with him? That was just wrong. They were lovers and he knew Quatre as no one else would. He would not simply vanish without leaving him some sort of message.

He was missing something.

He had checked his email accounts, those known to the government watchdogs and those known only to a very select few individuals, namely only the other pilots. Nothing. Nothing at all. No messages, of any sort, on his mobile, on the internet, or on the little used answering machine at the house. Of course there would not be, leaving an obvious message to be found was just begging the government to take action against them.

To compound matters he had discovered that a good half of the Magunac Corps had vanished. From the brief calls he had made it was a choice selection of the best of the Corps that was absent, which meant Quatre had the willing assistance of Rashid to perpetuate his vanishing act.

The whole thing was getting bigger the longer he thought about it. If Rashid was involved then there was nowhere on the Earth, or in space, that Quatre feasibly might NOT be. The resources he could tap into would be next to unlimited.

Maxwell had vanished quite efficiently. There was no plan for him to go to ground on their return, but he had disappeared before they had even landed. Somehow Quatre had to be involved in that. Duo was quite capable of doing so on his own, he was sneaky as hell, but the helo he had been flying had been returned to the hanger by an unknown pilot. The pilot of the machine had not matched Duo in height, weight or colouring, so it was not Duo in disguise, but to Trowa it had all the hallmarks of the manipulating sleight of hand he knew Quatre was so good at.

Duo's sudden disappearance was just one more indication that Quatre intended to use his resources to stay under the radar for a long period of time.

If any of their number had intended to go rogue, he would not have picked it to be Quatre. Duo, yes. Hell yes. He had made no bones about his discontent and his desire to thumb his nose at the government, but he had made no move to incite action either. Duo, like the rest of them, had limited options after the peace settled into place. Quatre must have been making plans for months, perhaps longer, for them to vanish so effectively in so little time.

It was all just so wrong. Nothing about it made any real kind of sense.

"Anything?"

Une stood in the doorway of the office, looking almost as bad as he felt. Yes, she was neat and tidy, the epitome of the professional business woman, but for all that perfection she gave off an air of being... well, frazzled, for want of a better word. She had not taken any time to rest either, merely freshened her appearance for the start of another official working day, an indication of how serious she considered the disappearance to be.

Her part in this he was not at all satisfied with. She had told him Quatre had visited her, that they had talked, but as yet she had not explained that visit to his satisfaction. What she had said of that interview did not seem enough to warrant his lover taking off to places unknown. And what the hell was Quatre's interest in Zechs Marquise, Milliardo Peacecraft anyway?

Trowa fought to keep his teeth from grinding. That man was the bane of the world's existence. Even when it was not his fault, it was still his fault... Somehow. And now he was not making any sense even to himself. He needed rest. Not just a distraction but a few solid hours of downtime so his mind could refresh and find a new aspect to tackle this conundrum.

"No. Everything I have tried has failed. I can't find a trace of him. Yet." Yet. He would find his lover. He would.

Une inclined her head. "Yet."

"When I get my hands on that idiot I'll..." He squashed the aggravation and ran a hand through his bang, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "He must have said something in your interview with him that could help me track him down. My options are limited and until I understand what it is that set him off, I'm at a disadvantage."

Cold eyes glinted, narrowing. "I've told you the pertinent details, Barton."

Joy. She was going to be playing her own games and still expect him to pull miracles out of thin air. It was one aspect of Une that he hated. She demanded action, but she was stubborn and if she dug her heels in over the details of this meeting with Quatre, then she was handcuffing him and throwing a shackle around his feet to boot.

"You've told me what you think are the pertinent details of your conversation, but something you don't recognise as being 'important' may be what I need to move forward with the investigation."

As if that would weaken her resolve. He knew too much of her reputation to think it would sway her in the least. She was a prideful, stubborn woman who closely guarded her secrets. She no doubt considered whatever they had talked about to be delicate material, and highly dangerous if she would tell him no more.

Une straightened, turning her back to him. "Use what I've given you, it's all we've got. Take a few hours of down time and get some sleep. Maybe a fresher outlook will bring something to mind. "

He stared at the closed door and ground his teeth as he fought to unclench his fingers. He would have to pay his dentist a visit at this rate.

Karina Robertson 2012


	19. Chapter 19

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Tradition, Conspiracy, Stronghold.

Minor challenge response: Wind, Water, Information

Word count:

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge:

Chapter 19

He had been told they were heading for a cabin in the woods, but with all things Quatre, especially where the Magunacs were involved, nothing could be that simple. Experience had taught him that what you saw on the surface would invariably be no fair assessment of what actually awaited you. He was tired, bone aching tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep. At the moment, that was impossible.

The semi trailer crept along the narrow road, twisting and turning around tight corners, every third or fourth turn, seeming, from the feel of it, to be turning back in a tight hairpin almost on itself. Duo braced himself, wedging his aching body firmly into place, wondering just what he would find at the end of the drive. Quatre's safe houses were generally what he would prefer to call palaces, and the blonde had had quite a few years to establish himself in Sanc. Duo was hardly expecting a simple cabin in the woods, though he would personally have preferred such a low profile building.

Quatre really did not do 'low profile' in the way Duo thought of it, so it came as a surprise when the semi rolled to a stop and he made his way out of the trailer to survey his new surroundings.

What he could see of the building was nothing as glamorous as he had expected, rather it was a single level structure of clean classic lines with a high pitched roof, constructed of rough hewn logs and stone, with a wide veranda and 'wild' garden mostly shielding it from sight. It looked peaceful, a holiday cabin away from the hustle and bustle and grime of the city. The air smelt divine, clean and crisp and there was just the hint of the promise of snow on the breeze. It was a winter wonderland beneath the layer of snow dumped by the recent blizzard. The walkway to the cabin had been shovelled clear and salted, and a cluster of men stood on the veranda dressed warmly and seeming not to notice the icy air. Quatre's advance party, sent to prepare the cabin for occupation, he assumed.

"Everything should be ready for you to simply go to bed if you wish, Duo."

He glanced at Quatre and shrugged, the barest lift of his shoulders. He was tired, yes, but not tired enough to throw caution to the wind and trust in others to guard his arse. He would not relax until he had at least a fundamental knowledge of the lay of the land and the floor plan of the cabin. Looking at the amount of people now moving around he guessed there was more to the cabin than this view allowed, as it appeared far too small to house that number of people.

He looked up at the high peaks that reared majestically so close to the cabin, a breathtaking, awe inspiring view. In the foothills, Quatre had said, but he hadn't said how far into the foothills. The mountain peaks towered over him and he could hear the wind howling though where he stood now was sheltered and almost eerily still, given that distant howling. The crunch of booted feet on snow drew his attention to a two man team clad in snow camouflage gear walking through low snowdrifts back along the roadside.

/Just how many people does Quatre have out here?/

"Duo?"

He glanced briefly at Quatre and inclined his head slightly. "Yeah. Coming. We gotta talk, man."

"I know, but you are tired and so am I. I've been up all night arranging things and I could do with a break. I can leave most of this to Rashid, but I think a tour is in order, if you don't want to go to bed immediately."

Oh God, he wanted to go to bed immediately. Sooner than immediately, but there was no way he could until he knew the lay of the land. Priorities had to be followed and whilst it was not the war now, he had survived to this day by being careful. He was not about to make mistakes. He would never settle comfortably if he did not know the escape routes and how many people would be moving around him.

He was not alive now by being a trusting soul. The men standing around on the veranda were laughing quietly amongst themselves, but the sound of their voices carried clearly on the still air. They stood to attention as Quatre neared the cabin, all sign of their mirth gone now, wiped away by serious expressions and respect. He had no idea how Quatre did it, but when he walked on scene something in the atmosphere changed and no one, not even he, could ignore it.

"We have a lot of information to exchange, but it will have to wait. It has been a long night and I had a long day before it. I'm dead on my feet, but we need to check out the facilities. Old habits die hard and, personally, I would like to die from old age after having led a very full and productive life."

There was nothing Duo could say to that, or rather, he would prefer not to say what flashed through his mind. Personally he did not care if he died young, so long as he died free, doing what he wished to do. He had had enough of being manipulated by others, of being expected to perform to another's direction, and being held accountable for events that honestly had nothing to do with him. But it was all water under a very old bridge and he was all for moving on.

The lock was electronic, he noted, and before they entered his fingerprints were taken and his right eye scanned. This was no low tech hunting cabin in the woods or holiday home. What more could he have expected from Quatre though? This hideaway in the woods would probably turn out to be a fortress, and wouldn't the Sancian nobility be pissed to think of something like this on their doorstep?

It was, on entering, the epitome of a high class hunting lodge. Certainly not rustic but comfortably furnished with an open plan design and a huge roaring fireplace in the centre of the main living area. The full circle stone fire pit radiated welcome heat, the smoke rising up through a low hood and Duo suspected there might just be a well concealed ventilation system in the house as there seemed to be very little in the way of smoke.

It was comfortable, there was no denying that, with couches gathered around the fire pit, bookshelves lining the walls, trophy heads mounted in just the right places and potted plants in abundance. Sort of modernistic rustic... but not quite, he mused. Designer rustic, perhaps would be a better description. The main room boasted plenty of windows and he had not gone three steps before he realised that the largest pair of windows on the South and West walls were actually double doors that would open out onto the wide veranda that appeared to encircle the entire cabin. They had entered by the north door which had been solid wood and of a standard size, but there was nothing that suggested a security feature about the other points of entry to the cabin.

Quatre looked about him with a great deal of satisfaction and inclined his head to the huge man who overshadowed them. "It has come up wonderfully, Rashid. The last time I was here it was little more than a shell, Duo."

"So what do you call this place, a hunting lodge?"

Quatre pursed his lips for a moment before shrugging. "I brought it in a sorry state of disrepair, and the title deeds do say hunting lodge, but I was more inclined to think of it as an escape from work. A weekend retreat, I suppose, for when Trowa and I just want to leave it all behind us for a bit. I purchased basically the entire valley to ensure privacy, but it was not purchased under my name, or through Winner Corp. I have been careful to keep the repair and redesign work here as unrelated to Winner Corporation as possible. For a while, at least, we should be safe enough working from here."

"So how do you fit everyone in? There are other buildings here?"

"Just a couple of small cabins, to give the appearance of accommodations for the security staff who patrol the area. The real accommodations area is down below. That's the business end of the building. The nerve centre."

Duo eyed Quatre for a long moment and sighed. No help for it, he had to ask. "The business centre... for what, exactly?"

Quatre did not so much as blink. "For monitoring certain people's activities. A number of people in high places recently have made surprising moves, and I don't like surprises. To succeed one has to know what others are doing, particularly people in the government who can make or break a deal. I have my fingers in many pies, Duo, and I haven't liked the way the pies feel lately. This business with Marquise... Well, I think it's all a part of what I have been trying to monitor for the last year and a half."

Duo moved closer to the fire, appreciating the heat it was generating, and glanced at his friend. "You haven't said anything before."

"I haven't felt the need to say anything until now. I was uncertain what was going on, and I am still uncertain, but I am hoping you and Marquise, when we find him, can tell me."

"Me? Shit, Quatre, I know nothing. I have no idea what Zechs is caught up in, but I think I can be pretty sure it's nasty business. Given the little bit he revealed, very nasty."

"When your own people turn on you, you can be sure it is a nasty situation, and I don't think there is much doubt that for Zechs to be taken by surprise, he has had to be betrayed by someone he trusts. And that man does not trust easily."

Duo rubbed his hands, palms suddenly clammy, down the front of his trousers and sighed. "You got that right, but I can't blame him. I don't trust any more easily than he does, especially not with watch dogs haunting me day and night. The man was angry, Quatre, coldly angry. Where I'd have blown up and said some nasty things, he was ice cold and calculating when I tried to talk to him about what happened. I think he has a fair idea of where to look for answers and I think he is expecting to deal with some pretty nasty shit, but he would not hear of me offering to help. After I pulled that asshole's butt out of the fire, well, the ice actually, he would not hear of me getting involved. And I'm already involved simply by being there when I was."

Quatre sighed and motioned behind them, to the eastern side of the main living area, past the eight seater rustic wooden table to the ultra modern kitchen.

"Kitchen. It should have everything we need and if you want something in particular, just ask someone to get it for you and we will have it by the next day. Otherwise, we can always eat in the mess hall with the others. Come with me."

Mess hall. Others. There it was again, the suggestion that things were far from a retreat in the foothills of a very picturesque area of Sanc. He'd already noted too many people for the amount of buildings Quatre had mentioned, but mess hall, that suggested a larger scale than he was thinking. But Quatre, being Quatre, had to introduce things in his own way and it was generally faster to let him do his thing, rather than try to push.

Quatre led the way into a passage at the north side of the kitchen to a door on the left which he opened, revealing a sparsely but comfortably furnished study, the west wall lined with a massive bookcase.

"We have internet access in all rooms. I'll give you the codes for the network and everything else that needs a key code later. Zechs is a cautious man, so I expect it took some planning to successfully take him down. You need to tell me what he told you about what happened. I have seen the Preventer report, which by the way, will now be shredded and everyone involved will be told to zip their lip." Blue eyes had a hard, cold glint as he glanced at Duo. "It never happened. It's relatively easy to deny the abduction of a man who is already dead."

Duo snorted, hardly amused, and followed Quatre along the southern hallway to the foot of a narrow steep staircase. Quatre flicked a finger upstairs and moved on, absently rubbing at his temples. He was tired and he wanted desperately to sleep, but like Duo he wanted to gain some sense of security in their surroundings. He was well aware of just who was handling security, and he trusted his people, particularly these men who had been with him during the war, but this tour would familiarise himself with how things now stood, the work completed and ready for habitation.

"The downstairs bathroom is the last door on the right. The door on the left, under the stairs, leads to a storage room and houses the secondary switchboard for the cabin." Quatre turned around and took the stair up, his stride not as springy as it usually was, revealing how tired he was. "Bedrooms are up here, three of them. Just pick which one you prefer, if you want to sleep up here, that is. There is a shared bathroom for all three rooms."

Quatre paused at the head of the stairs and indicated three doors, naming each a bedroom and then indicating the bathroom. The upper level was smaller than the lower, the roof line steep, rather obvious given the shape of the ceilings in the individual rooms and the low walls on the outer walls of the cabin. Windows let in adequate light and Duo grunted softly as he was shown each bedroom, opting to take one of the two southern rooms after admiring the view from the small balcony.

"I'll have your things moved in whilst I show you the rest of the set up. I had most of your stuff packed up and brought here when I figured out what was going on."

"Just what do you think is going on, Quatre?"

"Games, Duo. Very, very dangerous games."

He led the way back down the stairs and to the main living area, turning across the front of the kitchen to a door tucked between the kitchen and the sliding glass doors leading to the southern veranda. Duo was more than a little surprised when Quatre pressed his thumb print to a cleverly disguised pad which produced a click and Quatre swung the door wide to reveal a set of stone stairs leading down.

"The cold cellar." He explained. "Great for storing wine down here and some of the rooms are literally cold rooms, only in the hottest months will they require artificial refrigeration. This hunting lodge is something like three hundred or so years old, but during the renovation we discovered that it was built over a previous building. More than half of the cellar is the older construction, and has been tentatively dated to around seven hundred years. Feel free to browse at will, it's full of nooks and crannies. Some days I wish I was a kid and given licence to let my imagination run rampant. I could imagine this place as everything from a wine cellar to a dungeon, monsters and prisoners included."

It was bitterly cold, Duo was unhappy to discover, but Quatre ignored the temperature and slipped easily through the dimly lighted space, ignoring the wine racks, the neatly stacks of barrels, containers and machinery stored here. Stone constructed pillars supported the vaulted ceiling that screamed of age and Duo mused it would not be at all difficult to imagine another age.

Duo glanced around him with interest, marking everything for future reference, getting a bit tetchy over Quatre's continued refusal to explain what this place was and why he had felt the need to have it constructed. He just knew, deep in his bones, that this place was far more than it seemed.

"Quatre..."

"I had to make it believable, Duo. I am watched, so we had to do this slowly with as few people knowing about it as possible. There were less than a handful of people who know what I am doing here, and they don't actually know all of it. Even Trowa does not know about what you are about to see. He won't be happy with me, in fact he will be beyond angry, but I can't help that. He does work for Preventer, and I could not compromise him by having him know about this and not report it."

He scowled, but followed in silence as Quatre fidgeted, fingers knotting together before he caught himself and drew a deeper breath, becoming once again the confident business executive.

"At some point in the past this area was used as a quarry by the locals. We found the quarry pits and we have used them for our own purposes. It took a lot of work and a great deal of fiddling the books and acquiring the permits, but we managed. You'll find a lot of dry stone walls around here, as it is a basic and reasonably cheap building material. The locals use it a lot and it was convenient for us. It helped hide just how much we have cleaned out the quarries and extended them. I've had winter holdings constructed for the animals here, something that is traditionally done, but behind the cave pens we have the real heart of the complex."

Quatre pressed his full palm to a reader concealed in a wall cabinet, then leaned forward slightly to have his retina scanned. He motioned to Duo to do the same and a soft voice informed Duo his identity was confirmed. The wall to one side of the cabinet moved aside slowly and he found himself looking a very modern elevator, the open door inviting entry.

"Welcome, Duo, to what I hope I can safely call Sanctuary."

End

Karina Robertson 2013


	20. Chapter 20

Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Wind, Conspiracy, Assassination,

Minor challenge response: Longest Night, Crystal, Murder

Word count: 3,181

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge: Duo, Zechs, Quatre

Chapter 20

He ached.

Even in the dream, and he knew this was a dream, everything was too surreal to be anything other than one of his dreams. Even in the dream his 'body' ached, a 'physical' reflection of the stress he had been under over the last few days... and was still experiencing.

It was bad enough Marquise had cut him off, redirected him with a few well placed words, intending to go it alone in hunting down those who had marked him for death. He was expected to sit out the hunt, a hunt he wanted to pursue, and now there was Quatre and his superhero complex.

He pressed his dream hands over his 'eyes', shaking his head against the thought. Superhero. That was not exactly fair, he supposed, but the bat cave sure as heck was like something out of a graphic novel or movie. There was no doubt about it, superheroes were alive and well hundreds of years after their invention. He should know. He had had an up close and personal tour of the bat cave after all.

Somewhere, off in the nether reaches of his dream, he could hear his dead moaning. The sound carried on the non-existent yet perpetual wind that blew through this place. A zephyr of 'air', or whatever it was that passed for air in this reality, carrying with it the moans and whispers of the discontent, the displaced, the unfairly dead. The agony of those who had died at his hands... and those who had died if not by his hand, then had died because of him.

His dead, who crowded into his dreams, moaning and calling out their despair, their lost dreams, the names of their loved ones... who reached out for him, to him. They were there, haunting him still, but why were they so distant this time around? Why did he hear them from afar and why did they draw no closer? He was accustomed to them crowding him, pulling at him, accusing him, wailing before him.

Everything was different and it disturbed him.

He looked about him yet again, lowering his hands from his face, curious and determined to find what it was that made this dream different. There had to be a reason after all; there was always a reason. It was a curious place. More a bit of 'nothing' really than a something, a some place. Featureless, no shape or form. More a glow of light than a real 'place' reflected in his subconscious. It was disturbing to say the least, being 'nothing', but if nothing else, it was a haven from his dead.

He had gone to ground, though Marquise would not have expected this result when he had told him to run, to make himself scarce. He had, in a sense, done what the man wanted though it had not exactly been his choice to do so initially. He had determined to present a low profile and only if he felt the need had he intended to pretty much vanish from the face of the Earth. Perhaps literally. As it turned out, without any effort on his part, that was basically exactly what he had done.

How long he would linger in this sanctuary birthed of Quatre's fertile imagination he had no idea, but until the heat was off and those who might pursue him lessened their vigilance, it would certainly do. For now.

He was good at running and hiding, even if he did not particularly care to do so, as with the situation at present.

Warm flush of... curiosity? Well, yes, he supposed he was curious about the place. It was understandable that he would wish to know more. He did not even know exactly where he was, somewhere in Sanc certainly, but as to where in Sanc...? That question had not, as yet, been answered by Quatre.

And just how many people did Quatre have running this place? How had he managed to sneak - and sneak was such an understatement given what he had witnessed - the construction of the base past Preventer's sharp scrutiny? This was exactly the sort of set up Preventer went to great pains to sniff out and remove, preventing clandestine organisations from growing to the point where they caused unrest on the world stage. Yet despite the very efficient organisation set up to eradicate this kind of problem, Quatre had succeeded in constructing this massive complex in a very private valley that was potentially not all that far from New Port City and the power centres throughout Europe.

Sanc's landscape worked in Quatre's favour, there was no denying that. The wild spaces of the country were pretty rugged, the mountains inhabited by few people. But to manage to construct such a sizeable facility with state of the art equipment and have not even a whisper of it reach his ears...?

Something stirred on that minuscule current of air and he peered around him, looking into the glow, seeking some feature that was not there, trying to peer beyond it. The whispered voices and the moans were, if anything, more distant now. It felt like there was something... someone... standing just beyond his sight. Someone was hiding; someone who was as good as him at being unnoticeable whilst standing in plain sight.

He flinched, though his 'body' barely registered the move. It had almost touched him he was sure, just skimming beyond his actual form, there but not there, passing. It knew he was there and it was stalking him.

Was... it?

A shimmer in the light, something somehow changing, reassuring, offering something that might almost be protection. Almost. The light skim of something that was curiously no threat but more... more... Something else he could not quite determine, but definitely curiosity moved it.

A sanctuary in the middle of nowhere, close enough to the hub of the country to monitor the life beat of the world. The thought almost took him by surprise, so distracted had be become by the 'something' he was sure lurked out there in the 'nothingness' that was this place. The facility was designed, if he chose to believe Quatre, to work with those people who were... different, for want of a better word.

Different?

Had someone... moved behind him? Whispered? No. No, he was thinking too much. The strangeness of this place was putting him off. There was no one there, he could see that every time he looked around. He was allowing himself to be upset by the not quite void, the nothingness, the otherness of the 'here'. He was allowing it to get to him and causing him to imagine those 'things that go bump in the night' with ridiculous amounts of... of...

Fear was too strong a word. Regardless of what it was that stirred his reaction, it was both ridiculous and childish. He was no child, he had grown up a long time ago and only children were frightened by nothing.

Quatre...

Almost a whisper but again he was alone, solitary, jumping at shadows that could not exist in all this light.

Quatre? Well, Quatre was an annoying asshole on occasion. One never knew what he was capable of doing, or saying, from one day to the next.

His... bat cave...

He... No, there was no one behind him, no one whispering. The only whispering was the moans of his dead carried on the zephyr.

Too fertile an imagination, that was what was wrong. He needed to distract himself and he supposed Quatre and his 'house of surprises', the bat cave, was enough to do it. Thinking about that would surely get his mind off the strangeness of this space and this weird-assed dream in general. Maybe it was all just his subconscious demanding he settle this whole thing in his mind whilst he slept... Yes, that was it. So, he just needed to stop thinking of the strange light that surrounded him and the distant moans of his dead and... and start to remember his reactions to the events of the day. Remember his introduction to the perfect super hero's abode.

Well, how else could he describe what Quatre had suggested? What he had constructed here in the middle of nowhere... It was a sanctuary and training facility for those who had... who had...

Nah, he just could not say it.

And Quatre had gone further, revealing that he thought that he, Duo Maxwell, was... was one of... ! Because he had gone after Marquise, Quatre now named him as one of THEM.

_Psychic. _

The word seemed to hang in the still air. In a remote, disconnected fashion he realised that the moans and whispers were gone now. His dead were gone. It was just Duo and the light and that word.

Quatre wanted what was nothing more than a dream. He wanted a place where he and others with 'abilities' could find peace and a sense of belonging. Quatre wanted to draw others who were like him, who had that extra... something... and learn about them. To learn to accept what they were, what 'others' could do, what they were capable of, and not be viewed as... the terms were derogatory to say the least.

Monsters. Oddities. Freaks. Abominations. Get used to being considered mad or, at best, simply weird. Definitely not 'one of the guys' material.

It had proven to be one of the longest days he had known. Long because there had been no real opportunity to rest, because he had been worrying over what to do, what to say, where to go... In the end Quatre had whisked him away and he had ended up punching the bastard for his secrecy, he was not going to apologise or take it back; the prick had deserved it! He was supposed to accept being brought out to this remote location in the back of beyond and... He had basically been kidnapped!

But oh God, the bed had been heaven when finally he had collapsed into it!

A warmth he could almost equate to 'understanding' brushed his awareness. Offering some degree of comfort he was only too happy to accept.

The tour of the cabin had been quick enough, but the tour of what lay hidden beneath it had been something else again. Behind the winter cattle pens and storage rooms in the cavernous space that served to disguised the complex, lay a series of laboratories, barracks rooms, mess hall, meeting rooms and offices. The mountain was honeycombed with caves lurking in the shadows of the 'public complex' and not many of them looked entirely natural.

By his estimation a few hundred people could be accommodated with ease, and he was uncertain if he had viewed it in its entirety. No doubt Quatre could magic up a bit of extra space if he needed to, and that was just plain scary.

_ Why?_

The question seemed to hang in the air, replacing the other disturbing word he did not wish to acknowledge. Somehow 'why' was not as disturbing to him as 'psychic'. He supposed that should worry him, but at the moment he really was too tired to care. The voices, his ghosts, were in absentia and that meant it would be a rare night when he could get some quality sleep.

If he ever got out of this weird assed dream.

Why? Why what, Mr. Subconscious? What, why, do you want to know? Why did I knuckle down and let Quatre bring me here instead of heading out and going it alone? Why did Quatre build this place? Why is Quatre such a paranoid prick? Hell, they were friends, I can call my friend that, it was not like he was the only one who was overly suspicious. Why am I such a paranoid bastard?

He was every bit as paranoid as Quatre, the primary difference between them was that he just didn't have the cash flow to get away with expressing his paranoia in the same fashion as Quatre could.

_ Why?_

Still with the why? Ah well, why not? Think it out, think it through and then thumb his nose at the world like he usually did. Flip it the bird, even moon it! Why not?

Quatre pretty much was a law unto himself and, yes, he was paranoid. There was good enough reason to be, but if his own subconscious wanted to be a bitch and want something more... Well, he could deal with that. Provided he got some sleep before the voices, his dead, came back to haunt him.

Was it worrying him that much that he would disturb his own sleep with questions about it? Probably, he acknowledged. He hated not knowing everything and, whilst Quatre had the best of intentions, he had his own depths of paranoia to placate.

Quatre claimed to want to monitor the pulse beat of the world, to nip trouble in the bud before it sprouted dangerous roots. But it was not just that; Quatre wanted more. He wanted a place, a secure place, where the weirdos of the world could live and work without being considered to 'be' weirdos. Quatre wanted to learn about others abilities, to develop and train said abilities and he wanted...

He wanted to NOT be alone, to NOT be unique.

Yes, Duo mused, that was a large part of it he was sure. Quatre had always been different and it was not his family position or money that had marked him. Space Heart, they called it, but Quatre was quite adamant that there were others out there with the same, and varying, abilities. He wanted to gather those who shared these 'extra' perceptions of the world and give them a...

Well, Duo mused, he supposed what Quatre had been leading up to was that he wanted them to find acceptance, a home.

The glow surrounding him dimmed, speedily but gently, no abrupt transition from light to dark, no feeling of abandonment, of being thrust into a cold and dark place. Duo felt an assurance of well-being enfold him as the darkness came, a gentle caress at first then an enfolding, comforting absence of light.

An assurance he would enjoy dreamless sleep.

Crystal blue eyes flickered beneath carefully lowered lashes, barely a quiver of the pale lashes betraying eye movement. A quick flick to the door, body motionless, seeming relaxed in sleep whilst he listened. Footsteps beyond the room, moving past the door, a regulated, measured stride. The stamp of military issue boots was unmistakable.

Moving past, no hesitation, no pause, moving on past, fading...

A little time yet then. He was being observed, of course, he had no doubt his every move was watched, but watch all they liked, they had no way of monitoring what he was doing, and that would grant him time. He needed a few more hours before he acted to escape this place.

He had intended to go to ground, to vanish and bide his time, patient but determined to hunt those who hunted him. Duo had offered to hunt with him, but he could not allow it. He was considered to be dangerous and on this hunt there would be a second attempt, be it in the short term or the long term. Knowing his enemy, biding his time, knowing the right time would come.

They would keep trying, covering their tracks when they failed, and maintaining a low profile. Each attempt would be harder to spot, even harder to thwart. It would be no easy thing, nor a quick hunt, determining exactly who was behind this assassination attempt.

If not for the indeterminate time required for this hunt he have taken Duo Maxwell up on his offer.

Vanishing from sight, though never from mind, he wanted the bastard to sweat, running yes, but with purpose not in fear. Taking his time to establish safe houses and secure protocols, gathering together a team of agents who, like he, who would have been likewise targeted... Yes, time was to be his friend, patience was to be nurtured. but now...

He could not discount the potential. There might, after all, be a sanctuary for him, for them, to escape to.

If he dared to involve others in this mess. Others... Gundam pilots. Could one actually keep them out of it?

One could but hope.

Treize would have been proud of him, keeping them busy for so many hours with their interrogation, saying absolutely nothing even as he answered their questions. Six solid hours. The debriefing had been entertaining in that sense, but he had been physically and mentally exhausted and time had not been his friend. Fatigue he had known would lead to mistakes, but he had persevered and after considering the debriefing he did not think he had erred.

For the moment he had a little breathing space, but he could not relax and he could go on for only so long without food and rest.

The nanobots were at work to bring his physiology up to scratch, but food and rest were a required part of that rehabilitation. He had eaten, testing the food with the use of the nanobots for unwanted contaminates, an automatic precaution when you wore the name Zechs Marquise. Thus far there had been no attempt to drug him to get their answers, or simply to poison him and quietly dispose of his corpse. That would come, when they deemed he had lost his edge of suspicion, but he planned on being out of here long before then.

One or all of those men who had debriefed him might have been in on the planned assassination, or they might have been trying to garner information on what he knew for their own hunt. Someone was playing dangerous games and when they had targeted him a whole new game had started. Whether they knew it or not.

Relena was the pacifist in the family. He was something else entirely.

He needed to determine if it was necessary to run to Quatre Winner's sanctuary, uninvited, his very appearance on the doorstep proving that he was one of those that Quatre intended to protect and use. Or would it be better, wiser, to keep his freedom to move initially, to keep that solitary independence and establish his own network? Running would mean his use of facilities designed for this kind of search would be limited for an extended period of time, but he would not involve those he sought to protect, who had saved his arse. Seeking out Winner would mean he might have assistance in this hunt. He might be able to offer sanctuary to the others who would be in similar circumstances to his own should they have survived what he was sure would have been a mass cleansing of the 'troublesome' agents.

He alone had not asked troublesome questions.

But, despite the benefits that could be gained, did he really want to involve Winner, and especially Maxwell, in this mess? Did he have the right to involve them?

End

Karina Robertson 2013


End file.
